The Butterfly Effect
by 007 James Bond
Summary: An unexpected Killing Curse puts an end to Dumbledore's carefully crafted plans and the Battle of Hogwarts ends horribly. Voldemort's victory is absolute and Harry has nowhere left to go. He manages to escape his inevitable fate with some help, but the repercussions of his actions will be felt for years in the — past? Time Travel. Dark Beginnings. The world is not black and white.
1. The Butcher of Hogwarts

**The Butcher of Hogwarts**

* * *

 **Disclaimer**

Harry Potter and associated content are the property of their respective owners – I am definitely not one of them.

* * *

 **Notes**

The story has mostly followed canon till the escape from Gringotts. There are a few minor divergences that will be explained in the appropriate context.

 _Italicised_ paragraphs are flashbacks.

Some reviewers have pointed that the narrative in this chapter is somewhat hard to follow. To clarify, there are three different narratives in this chapter.  
— The first one is the main narrative. It describes things as they happen in the present (from the characters' point of view). It is written in indefinite and continuous tenses. For example — Harry did something, Harry was doing something etc.  
— The second one describes something that happened in the past (from the characters' point of view). It is written in perfect and perfect continuous tenses. For example — Harry had done something, Harry had been doing something etc.  
— The third one describes flashbacks. It is written in _italics_. While it looks similar to the first one, the narrator is describing events that happened in the past (from the characters' point of view) by putting themselves in the same timeframe as the events.

I still like to think that the narrative is clear from the context, but I added the explanation above based on the reviews I got. Please read and let me know what you think.

* * *

It was a nice warm sunny day in London. Diagon Alley, the primary commercial district of magical Britain, was teeming with witches and wizards going about their business. The only sign of anything unusual was the sight of some strangely dressed people looking at various storefronts selling merchandise that they had only heard of in fiction and myths — merchandise ranging from flying broomsticks to wands, from parchments and quills to robes and cloaks, from owls to snakes. . . While most of them were looking with a sense of awe and curiosity on their faces, there we some who were barely concealing the disgust or fear they felt.

They were muggles — people born without the gift of magic in their blood. One might wonder about the presence of muggles in a magical shopping district — especially since the Statue of Secrecy enacted by the magical governments all over the world forbade witches and wizards from revealing the existence of magic to muggles. But these were special muggles. They were special because they had at least one child that was magical — and hence, were exempt from some of the restrictions imposed by the Statue.

The reason for the presence of the muggles in Diagon Alley was simple — as any long-time business owner in the street could tell you — the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, arguably the premier school of magic in all of Europe, had started dispatching letters inviting students for the upcoming academic year. Many of the establishments in the alley expected to see more business in the upcoming few weeks than the rest of the year combined.

One of the muggles wandering in the alley was a Mr. Joseph Evans, who was escorting his fifteen-year-old daughter, Lily. Lily was going to start her fifth year at Hogwarts on the first of September. Ordinarily, she would have come with both her parents — but her sister, Petunia, who was not a witch, had refused to set foot in what she called the Freaky Alley. Mrs. Evans had decided to stay back with her.

The Evans parents were in the strongly in the camp of muggles who had been delighted to discover the hidden world of magic — not repulsed by it. Mr. Evans smiled at Lily who excitedly explained about anything that looked even remotely interesting.

They were walking towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions when it happened. Lily found herself sprawled on the cobbled street — she had not been paying attention to where she was going as she excitedly talked about the latest model of telescope she had seen displayed in one of the storefronts.

Her eyes widened as she realised what had happened — she had run into a noble looking wizard wearing rather expensive looking robes. While she couldn't discern his features because he had kept his hood up, she could tell he came from one of the rich pureblood families — no-one else would bother with such an attire just for a stroll down the Diagon — even if they could afford it in the first place.

"I apologise, Miss. I wasn't looking where I was going," said the unknown wizard, offering his hand to help her up.

"It was my fault. I got a bit carried away. I am really sorry," apologised Lily, more than a little intimidated.

"It is quite understandable," the wizard chuckled as he waved his wand to help her father gather her things which were all over the place.

"Thank you!" Lily said shyly. She had been afraid that the wizard might end up calling her names — or insulting her heritage. It is something she had gotten used to over the last four years at Hogwarts. But she didn't want her father to hear any of it. She knew he would not let a slur against his daughter lie — and any retaliation could potentially land them in heaps of trouble.

"Think nothing of it, Miss. Now, I must be going. I have some rather urgent business to attend to," replied the wizard as he stepped towards the Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

The last thing she noticed as he turned away was his eyes, which were the exact same colour and shape as her own, except they appeared to be glowing slightly.

* * *

Harry Potter's emotions were all over the place. He had just met the woman — girl — who would go on to become his mother. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her who he was, but he couldn't really do that — not without raising some awkward questions. He may not have been an expert, but he was confident that no teenage girl would like to meet her future son who was older than herself — especially if the son in question looked like the carbon copy of a boy whose guts she hated. So, he had behaved like a somewhat snobbish stranger. He was glad he had had the foresight to keep his hood up and apply the Notice-Me-Not charm on his face.

He took a deep breath to compose himself before entering his destination — Gringotts Wizarding Bank. He couldn't help but reminisce about the last time he had been into the bank. He could remember it as it had happened yesterday — even though more than two months had passed — at least from his prospective — since that fateful day that had set into motion the chain of events leading to his current predicament.

* * *

Harry, along with his closest friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, had broken into Gringotts. One might think they wanted the riches contained within the deep caverns of the bank, but they had never even thought about it. Their sole objective had been the capture of a small golden cup which had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff — one of the founders of the Hogwarts, and arguably, the modern British magical society.

While the cup in question was supposed to have tremendous historical value, and perhaps some magical properties, that is not what Harry and friends were after. The cup was also one of the anchors protecting Lord Voldemort, perhaps the worst dark wizard in the history, from being killed. It was a Horcrux — a container that held a portion of the self-styled dark lord's soul.

And they had succeeded in what most would have claimed to be a fool's errand! Thanks to some skilled wand work by the trio, and a lot of sheer dumb luck, they had managed to escape with the cup and nothing more than a few minor scratches and burns. However, their escape had not been subtle. It's hard to be subtle when you escape one of the most heavily secured places in Wizarding Britain, situated in a busy shopping centre, riding a dragon, of all things.

The Dark Lord had found out about the stolen Horcrux in a matter of hours. So terrible had his rage been upon hearing the news that he had killed the news-bearer on the spot, along with many of his minions in attendance. Thanks to the connection he had shared with the Dark Lord, Harry had witnessed these events unfold through Voldemort's own eyes. The very same connection had allowed him to figure out that the last remaining inanimate Horcrux was at Hogwarts. Believing that it was not very likely to be stolen from Hogwarts, Voldemort had decided to try and secure the other Horcruxes first — which, unknown to him, had already been destroyed.

Not willing to risk Voldemort moving the Horcrux elsewhere, they had decided to try and beat him to it — or rather, he had decided to. Hermione hadn't wanted to go there without a plan, but he had managed to convince her somehow. He now wished he hadn't. Not only had they failed to find the Horcrux, they had no means of destroying the one they did have — having lost the Sword of Gryffindor at Gringotts. In the hindsight, it was obvious that there just wasn't enough time to comb the castle before Voldemort came calling.

It wasn't a battle; it was a massacre. They had barely managed to evacuate the younger students when Voldemort had attacked with a huge army of Death Eaters, giants, dementors, inferi, trolls, werewolves, vampires and countless other dark creatures. The once legendary defences of the castle had crumbled against the determined onslaught of Voldemort's curse breakers within minutes. And then they had been sitting ducks. There was no time to organise any kind of defence. The anti-apparition and portkey enchantments meant to protect the castle from intruders had turned on its inhabitants — they couldn't even run away. They had been surrounded, literally and figuratively.

The defenders of Hogwarts had fought bravely. They had taken out a large chunk out of the invading army, but they were outnumbered at least three to one. Voldemort hadn't even bothered to join the battle — he had simply waited in the Forbidden Forest with his top lieutenants. Halfway through the battle, he had asked for Harry's surrender in exchange for sparing the remaining defenders. Having no other choice, Harry had complied, despite vehement protests from his friends and allies.

It was all for naught, though. Voldemort had reneged on his promise. He had wanted to make an example of what happened to those who continued to defy him. Harry had watched helplessly as Voldemort and his minions had slaughtered his friends, his teachers, the remaining students, the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and anyone else who had taken up arms against him. He had gone nearly catatonic at the sight of the bodies of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Remus, Tonks, Fred, George, Arthur, Molly and countless others piled together.

Having slaughtered almost everyone, Voldemort had finally released him from his bindings. He hadn't bothered with a duel or monologue this time. Apparently, he had learnt his lesson from their past encounters. The bindings had barely vanished when he had hit him with a Killing Curse.

And Harry had found himself facing his old headmaster at a place that reminded him of King's Cross.

* * *

" _You are dead!" Harry exclaimed._

" _Indeed," Dumbledore exhaled._

" _Then I guess I am dead as well," sighed Harry._

" _Not quite, but it doesn't really matter either way now, does it?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _What have you done, Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him with a look of extreme disappointment on his face._

" _What have I. . . done?" Harry blinked owlishly. Then it came to him_ — _the battle of Hogwarts_ — t _he deaths of his friends_ — _he choked back a sob._

" _Why did you have to kill Severus, Harry?"_

" _Excuse me?"_

" _You are, or should I say — were_ — _a Horcrux," Dumbledore sighed, nodding towards the ugly baby-like creature stuffed under one of the chairs. "I had instructed Severus to inform you of this when it seemed like all the Horcruxes, except for the snake, had been destroyed."_

" _Wait, Snape knew about the Horcruxes?" asked a surprised Harry._

" _No, he did not. I had merely requested him to inform you if there ever came a time when Voldemort grew overly protective of his snake — more so than he usually is."_

" _And what exactly was I supposed to do with the information?"_

" _You were supposed to surrender to Voldemort and let him hit you with a Killing Curse. Your willing sacrifice would have protected the rest of your friends from Voldemort's wrath — just the way your mother's did for you. You ruined my carefully constructed plan by killing poor Severus before the battle even started."_

 _Harry couldn't help himself, he chuckled mirthlessly — which turned into a full belly laugh within moments._

 _Dumbledore was not pleased. "Did I say something humorous, Harry?"_

 _Harry was beyond furious, "What did you think I'd do when I encountered the traitor?"_

" _Severus was no traitor," Dumbledore replied. "I had complete faith in his abilities to protect himself. What I had never expected was for you to curse him when his back was turned — with the Killing Curse, no less! I thought I had thought you better"_

 _Harry was left gaping for a few moments._

" _How was I supposed to know that?" he finally asked. "From where I stood, it looked like a do-or-die situation. I needed to end that duel so Professor McGonagall could help me."_

" _You could haven incapacitated him. . ."_

" _Yeah, that's worked out so well in the past," Harry replied sarcastically._

 _Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, but Harry beat him to it._

" _You have to be kidding me," he said in disbelief as realisation dawned on him. "If Snape was not a traitor, that means. . . that means, you planned your own death! You knew Malfoy had succeeded, didn't you? That is why you were so unfazed that night when I told you I had heard them celebrating," he accused._

" _Of course, I did. I was already dying because of the curse from the ring. . ."_

 _Harry's mind went in overdrive as he started connecting the dots. "That doe Patronus was Snape's?"_

" _Indeed."_

" _And the idea of using six Harry Potters to escort me? I always found it hard to believe that someone like Mundungus had come up with something as elaborate as that — only you could've come up with something that convoluted. And I don't reckon that the Death Eaters appearance that night was simply bad luck."_

 _The look on Dumbledore's face was enough to answer his question._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Severus had to remain in Voldemort's good graces. . ."_

 _"You. . . you bastard!" shouted Harry, suddenly feeling extremely angry. "We lost Mad-Eye so your precious pet Death Eater could retain his cover? The rest of us barely escaped with our lives that night! How many other members of the Order did we lose thanks to him?"_

 _"Those were necessary sacrifices. It was imperative that we kept a spy in Tom's ranks. Everyone who joined the Order knew the risks."_

" _I am sure they did," Harry scoffed. "I am sure they knew that their illustrious leader could sell them out to Voldemort whenever it was convenient. . ."_

 _"Convenient? A sacrifice is never convenient. Don't presume to lecture me about things you can't hope to comprehend, Mr. Potter!" The old wizard finally allowed some of the anger he was feeling to seep into his voice. "You don't understand. . ."_

 _"Oh I understand, alright_ _— I understand better than I ever did!_ _It was for the fabled Greater Good, wasn't it?" Harry hissed back._

 _The wizened old wizard looked taken aback at having his past thrown at his face._

 _"Is that why you refused to teach me any more magic than was absolutely necessary? To ensure that I couldn't fight the_ destiny _you had planned for me?"_

 _Dumbledore sighed._

 _"I never expected you to be able to defeat him in a duel. . . I seriously doubt I could defeat him in a duel, if I may say so myself. He has got decades of experience over you. The gap in the level of skills is simply too huge to bridge with a — what is the phrase — a crash course, in magic." Dumbledore sighed again, "Had everything gone as I had envisioned, Voldemort would have used the Killing Curse on you the moment you surrendered. Your willing sacrifice would have provided everyone else with enough protection to survive the night."_

" _In case you did not notice, I did end up surrendering myself to the tender mercies of Voldemort. . ."_

" _. . . only after you had killed so many of his Death Eaters. You made him angry enough to want to make an example out of you. He normally wouldn't have wanted to spill magical blood — at least not publically. Trust me, I know Tom very well."_

 _Harry was stunned into speechlessness, his respect for the man he had once seen as a mentor dropping to rock bottom._

 _"You don't even see it, do you? The gigantic flaw in that grand plan of yours?"_

 _"What flaw is that?" the old Headmaster asked testily._

 _"Your entire plan was based on how you expected everyone, including Voldemort, to behave. It depended very heavily on everyone acting their part perfectly. . . There was no margin for error. . . No contingencies. . . All it took to unravel your grand plan was some slight divergences from the course you had –_ envisioned, _" Harry said the last part mockingly._

 _"I am sure. . . "_

 _"Spare me," spat the boy-who-lived. "Between Voldemort's tendency to kill his own followers, and Snape's status as the traitor in the eyes of the Order, what were the odds of him even staying alive till the end? And it is war. Did you really expect me to stun them all so they could be happily revived by their comrades? Just how naïve are you?"_

 _For the first time in Harry's memory, Dumbledore seemed to be at a loss for words._

 _"What happens now?" asked Harry, when Dumbledore didn't seem inclined to speak anymore._

 _"You have to make a choice, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking terribly lost. "You can choose to move on, or you can go back. . ."_

 _The choice was easy for him — he had no desire to go back. But a voice in the back of his head, one that sounded a lot like a combination of Sirius and Ron, told him that if he was going to end up dead no matter what, he might as well to do as much damage as he could to the abomination that had destroyed everything he had ever cared for._

 _"I want to go back!" he proclaimed._

* * *

The King's Cross had faded away slowly and he had found himself lying on his back. Every bone, every muscle in his body had seemingly protested his decision to come back.

Opening his eyes a fraction, Harry had found Voldemort standing with his back to him, monologuing away as usual. The Death Eaters were hanging on to every word, laughing and jeering at appropriate moments. That is when he had noticed something that was slightly in his favour. Voldemort's wand — the Elder Wand — which he was holding lazily, was well within his reach. With lightening quick reflexes honed from being a seeker for years, he had snatched the wand away and cast a _Sectumsempra_ before the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters could even comprehend what was going on. Taking the opportunity, Harry had made a run for it, covering his retreat with as many curses as he could fire while running. He needn't have bothered, though. By the time, the Death Eaters had started retaliating in earnest, he had already crossed the edge of the anti-apparition enchantments.

As he had crossed the boundary, he had turned around and cast the one curse he had never used before — not because he didn't think he could cast it — but because he didn't think he could control it.

" _Arcesso Fiendfyre!"_

The last sight he had seen as he had turned on the spot to disapparate was that of Voldemort, devoid of his wand arm, staring in shock at the hellfire advancing rapidly towards him, consuming everything in its way.

As he had succumbed to the sensation of being squeezed through a narrow tube, he had realised, too late to do anything about it, that he had a tag along.

Fortunately for him, the apparition had turned out to be more jarring for the passenger than it had for him. He had managed to disarm, stun and bind the tag-along before they could recover from it.

He had apparated to Grimmauld Place without thinking. But he would reflect later that it was probably the safest choice. With the death of everyone who knew the secret of the place at Hogwarts, he was the only secret keeper left. The only other Order member alive was Mundungus, whom Hermione had obilivated months ago — while they were still searching for the Slytherin's locket.

And that is how he had found himself in the basement, three days later, staring at the occupant of a prison like cell built in the corner farthest away from the door.

* * *

" _Rennervate," Harry intoned, pointing the Elder Wand — which he was using as his own since he had found out that it worked better than the one he had stolen from Draco at Malfoy Manor — to the prone figure behind the bars._

 _The target of the spell stirred weakly. Being stunned for three days straight is not exactly healthy, after all._

" _What is the meaning of this? Release me immediately!" the female prisoner shouted once she had gathered her bearing._

" _And why would I do that, Bellatrix?" asked Harry, suppressing every bit of emotion he felt._

" _Potter?" asked the dark-haired witch, finally realising the identity of her captor. "Do you really believe you can keep me captive here for long? I'll get out of here in a matter of minutes, and when I do, I swear to the Dark Lord, I'll — "_

" _What? You'll kill me?" Harry cut her off mid tirade. "Your master has been trying to do that since I was born. I'm still here, ain't I?"_

" _In case you didn't notice, the Dark Lord annihilated all your forces at Hogwarts, Potter. Do you honestly think you can win on your own? Or that anyone will come to your aid after the example he set?"_

 _Harry's shoulders slumped, the memory of his friends' dead bodies all too fresh in his mind. Bellatrix noticed this and pressed on in her irritating mock baby voice._

" _Ooooh, is little baby Hawwy gonna cwy now? All his little fwiends are dead!" she cackled away madly._

" _Shut up!" roared Harry. "Don't you dare insult them. They were braver then you or your pathetic master. Crucio!"_

 _Bellatrix screamed. Unlike the last time she had faced Him, Harry had figured out how to cast the curse. She would later reflect that the curse was more painful than even Voldemort's._

 _Harry lifted the curse after a few seconds._

" _Seems like you finally learnt how to cast that curse," the deranged witch remarked softly once she had recovered enough. "Your friends may have been brave, but you are a filthy coward. You couldn't even die honourably, could you? You ran away — as always, didn't you, you spineless filthy half-blood?" she nearly shouted the last part._

 _It was a low blow — especially since Harry himself felt that way to an extent. He quashed the feeling, not wanting to show weakness._

" _Did you know your master is a_ filthy half-blood _himself? Or has he been pretending to be a pureblood? In fact, according to the latest ministry classifications, the son of a squib and a muggle is a — a mudblood," Harry sneered, the last word making him feel incredibly guilty as he remembered the look on Hermione's face every time she had been called that._

" _What are you babbling about, Potter?" snapped Bellatrix, outraged. "The Dark Lord is the heir of Salazar Slytherin. There is no way he can be anything but a pureblood. You are lying, you — "_

" _Am I now?" Harry smiled cruelly. "Do you even know his true name? Tom Marvolo Riddle," he traced the fiery letter in the air — not unlike the way Tom had done in the Chamber of Secrets._

" _Is that supposed to mean — "_

 _Harry waved the wand rearranging the letters into "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT"_

" — _something?" Bellatrix's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before they narrowed. "And that proves everything," she continued sarcastically. "Did the old fool invent this crackpot story, or did you come up with it all by yourself?"_

" _Tom told me himself."_

 _You are lying! You dare besmirch the Dark Lord's heritage? He will teach you your place — like he did your blood-traitor of a father_ — "

 _Harry could feel blood rushing to his head. "Do you even know what a blood-traitor means?" he ground out, trying to keep his temper in check._

" _Someone who betrays their blood — like your father_ —

" _Really? Was it my father who betrayed his blood? Was it him who killed his own family?" Harry shouted, abandoning any attempts to control his temper, "Take a good look at yourself and tell me who the blood-traitor between you and my father is!"_

 _He slammed the door shut behind him, not waiting to listen to her response._

* * *

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't realised that he had reached one of the counters that was free and had spent the last couple of minutes staring at the goblin behind it without saying anything. As one would expect, the goblin was thoroughly annoyed.

'So much for the first impressions,' thought Harry.

"I am sorry, I was lost in thought. . ."

"That is none of my business. You are wasting my time," sneered the goblin.

"I hope this is a suitable compensation for your time," replied Harry, placing five Galleons on the counter.

The Goblin looked slightly mollified, "What do you want?"

"I am here for a pre-arranged meeting," replied Harry.

Very few people knew that while Gringotts was officially a bank, the goblins provided a variety of other services for the wealthier clientele — for the right price, of course. Secure anonymous meeting rooms were one of them. They were normally used by those wanting to meet in a neutral territory. The goblins guaranteed that any foul play would be duly punished.

Harry had always found it amusing that wizards trusted goblins more than they trusted other wizards — despite the well-known fact that the goblins held the humans in contempt — and would rebel at the first opportunity they got. Wizards were so afraid of other wizards defrauding them that they would rather let goblins control their economy than let a wizard start a banking institution. The distrust, along with the lack of financial or economic studies — or even real mathematics, for that matter — in the wizarding world was the reason behind Gringotts' monopoly over the economy of magical Britain. According to Hermione, muggle-borns and half-bloods had floated the concept of a human operated bank at various points in the history. They had been shot down unanimously by the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot.

"Do you have the token?" asked the Goblin.

Harry produced the scroll he had received confirming the meeting.

"This seems to be in order. You are a bit early. Silvershark here will take you to a waiting room. As per the protocol, we cannot let you enter the actual meeting room until all the parties are present."

Harry nodded. He had expected nothing less.

As he waited for other participants to arrive, he continued his trip down the memory lane.

* * *

Harry hadn't had a clue about what to do with the insane witch he had somehow managed to capture. He had tried to cast the Killing Curse the moment he had realised her identity, but hadn't been able to summon the required hatred in his anguish and grief. Eventually, he had relieved her of all her weapons and tossed her in a cell in the basement.

He had spent the next two days wallowing in his misery, and trying to heal himself to the best of his abilities. He had never been as good at it as Hermione, but he didn't have her any more — a thought that had sent him into another bout of depression.

Fortunately, the potions cabinet had been well stocked from the days when the house had served as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

Unfortunately, the same could be said about the liquor cabinet.

* * *

Having woken up horribly hung over for five days in row, Harry had finally stepped out of Grimmauld Place for the first time since the fateful night — under Glamour Charm and the Invisibility Cloak. His objective had been to get some food and news. The first one had proved to be easy — he had had a lot of practice during the last nine months on the run. He had simply grabbed some food from a muggle deli when no one was looking. He had left enough money to cover the costs.

The second item on the agenda had proved to be difficult, though. He had wanted to avoid the wizarding world completely till he could figure out the situation. He was not naïve enough to believe that he had killed Voldemort with last curse he had cast.

After what felt like hours loitering at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, he had finally managed to nick a copy of the Daily Prophet with liberal use of Confounding, Notice-Me-Not and Summoning charms. Mission accomplished, he had walked a few blocks away before apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

 _THE BUTCHER OF HOGWARTS STILL AT LARGE_

The Daily Prophet had printed an account of how he had supposedly held the students and the teachers hostage at Hogwarts and how he had burnt them all alive along with the school, when his demands had not been met. The article had gone on to praise the _private citizens_ who had collaborated with the _Aurors_ to try and deal with the Potter menace — they were slated to receive an Order of Merlin each. The official death toll of the battle had been reported to be 597. The bounty on his head had been raised from 10,000 to 20,000 Galleons.

Harry had tossed the paper into the fireplace in disgust.

Later that day, Harry had found himself descending the stairs leading to the basement once again, this time carrying some food and a shallow stone basin with odd runes and markings and runes along the edges — a Pensieve. It was one of the things he had liberated from Dumbledore's office after his death.

* * *

 _He found Bellatrix sitting in a corner of her cell. She looked up upon hearing the footsteps._

" _What do you want, Potter?" she asked in an icy voice._

 _Harry levitated the food between the bars towards her, not trusting her enough to step closer to the cell. For a second, it seemed like she might reject it, but eventually her hunger won over her pride and she dove in, having gone hungry for five days in a row._

 _While Bellatrix was attacking her food, Harry conjured a stool and placed the Pensieve over it. He then withdrew some silvery strands of memory from his temple and deposited them in the basin._

" _What the hell are you doing, Potter?"_

 _Harry continued depositing memories without responding. Once he was done, he waited patiently for Bellatrix to finish her meal, which, unsurprisingly, took a short time — he had only given her enough to keep her alive, after all._

" _Do you what this is?" Harry asked, pointing towards the basin._

 _"Of course, I do, moron. What are you trying to pull now?"_

 _Without responding, Harry tapped a rune on the bowl, causing a projection to rise out of it. It showed a younger Harry running towards something._

" _What is this memory?" demanded Bellatrix._

" _This is my memory of the Chamber of Secrets. Now shut up and watch."_

* * *

" _If I say so myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed…"_

" _Voldemort, is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter. . ."_

" _You see? It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry — I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"_

* * *

" _You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool. . ."_

" _You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. . . He didn't like magic, my father. . ."_

* * *

Bellatrix had watched wide-eyed as Harry played memory after memory. Once he had exhausted his own memories, he had proceeded to the set of memories Dumbledore had once shown him — taking care to avoid the ones that talked about the Horcruxes.

As the last memory had ended, he had vanished the stool and marched out of the basement — leaving a shell-shocked Bellatrix behind. While he had accepted that he couldn't bring himself to kill her in cold blood, there was nothing stopping him from tormenting her mentally. It had given him a modicum of satisfaction to know that his plan had not been a colossal failure.

* * *

Life at Grimmauld Place had settled in a rhythm for Harry. He would wake up, often with a massive hangover. Drinking till he passed out was the only way he could keep his nightmares at bay. Fortunately, the liquor cabinet had enough of hangover potion to last him for a while — perhaps longer than the liquor itself would — given the rate he had been consuming it at.

Once every few days, he would go out to forage for food and news — that is how he had found out that the bounty on his head had gone up to 25,000 Galleons. He had tried to keep his outings as rare and unpredictable as he could after that.

Once his injuries had healed, Harry had thrown himself into learning as much magic as he could. The Black family library — what was left of it after the great purge of 1995 anyway — had proved to be very helpful.

For some reason, he had found himself spending at least a couple of hours in the basement talking to Bellatrix. He had no idea why he had bothered. He was supposed to hate her — and at some level he did. But his hatred, his rage — his emotions — they all had felt muted, as if they had belonged to another Harry Potter. The only thing he had truly felt was hollowness — a strange detachedness that he couldn't begin to explain if he tried.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, apparently had a Multiple Personality Disorder. On some days, she had almost been sane — well, as sane as someone like Bellatrix Lestrange could be. On the other days, she had reverted to her deranged self — raging and throwing tantrums. Harry had learnt to leave her well alone when she was like that.

* * *

Travelling back in time had never been a part of his plans. He hadn't even known that it was possible to travel beyond a few hours in the past. No, he had thought of a very different plan.

He had never been under any delusion that he could take down Voldemort by adding a few extra spells to his repertoire. The power, skill and ruthlessness that Voldemort had displayed at Hogwarts had forced him to re-evaluate his own capabilities.

He hadn't planned on hiding out for the rest of his life at Grimmauld Place either. Though he thought it may have been ironic to hide out under the Invisibility Cloak — the same way his ancestor had allegedly done from Death.

No, he had planned to get out of Britain — out of Voldemort's circle of influence. He had realized that Aberforth had been right — he could never be safe in Britain. Harry had wished he had listened to him before he had charged into Hogwarts.

The only thing that had kept him going was the hope of returning to his homeland one day and exacting his vengeance on the monster that had destroyed everything he held dear.

Unfortunately, he had run into a snag the moment he had started planning his extended foreign trip, He had realised that he had no clue how to travel out of the country. He didn't have a passport — the Dursleys had never felt the need for him to have one — nor did he have any documentation in the muggle world to get one. And if there was a magical version of a passport, he couldn't very well march into the Ministry to get one. He had figured he'd need to build a completely new identity before he could go anywhere.

Money had turned out to be another problem. Between the inheritance from his parents and Sirius and his reluctance to splurge, he had a small fortune in wizarding currency. While he couldn't be considered filthy rich by any standards, he believed he could easily lead an upper middle-class life for years before he'd run out. Fortunately, Hermione had had the foresight to empty his vault before breaking into Gringotts. But Galleons, Sickles and Knuts were accepted in very few countries. The magical societies in most countries had simply adopted the muggle currency of the country. And the Goblins were unlikely to let him step into Gringotts ever again — even if he were willing to accept the measly exchange rate of five Pounds per Galleon.

Given that he was still being hunted aggressively, Harry had realised that he would need to wait for some time for things to settle down before he could even try to flee.

He had wished he could visit Andromeda and his godson, Teddy. However, he had never known where they lived. And he hadn't dared to send a message — afraid of putting them in more danger.

* * *

 _Six weeks had passed since the battle of Hogwarts — and Harry had yet to find a way to get out of the country. Worse, the hunt for him didn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. The total bounty on his head had reached 33,000 Galleons. Apparently, some prominent members of the society had joined hands to add to the 25,000 Galleon bounty that the Ministry had already placed on his head._

 _Desperate for any progress, he found himself walking towards the basement — praying that his captive would be in one of her rare cooperative moods. He did not really want to do this, but he had exhausted all other avenues. And he could always obilivate her of the conversation._

 _After the usual barbs and insults, he tried to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted._

" _Have you ever been outside Britain?"_

" _Of course I have. The Blacks had dealings as far as India and China back in the day. I travelled a few times with my father and uncle," replied Bellatrix._

 _"How did you travel. I'd reckon it's hard to apparate that far. . ."_

 _Bellatrix gave him a look that made it clear what she thought of his intellectual prowess. "We took international portkeys," she ground out._

 _"Ah. . . portkeys. Forgot about them," admitted Harry, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of them earlier._

 _"Obviously," sniped Bellatrix._

 _"And what about documents? Do you need a passport?"_

 _Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, "Planning to run away, are we?"_

 _Harry turned pink at being caught so easily._

 _"It won't work. The only place you can get a portkey is at the Ministry. . ."_

 _"I could always make my own. . ."_

 _"You are welcome to try," snapped the deranged witch. "You will have the law enforcement of the destination country at your back the moment you land. . ."_

 _"What about the documents?"_

 _"You need an International Travel Authorisation Letter, which, once again, can only be issued by the Ministry of Magic. Normally, you get one along with the international portkey. Trust me, you don't want to be caught in foreign territory without one."_

 _Harry's shoulders sagged. He had guessed as much, but to have it confirmed made it real._

 _"How do I know you are not lying?" he asked suspiciously._

 _Bellatrix scoffed, "Go ahead and try for yourself. Just remember, you'll be extradited faster than you can say the word."_

 _"I guess I could always travel like a muggle. I can confound them into thinking that I have all the documents I need. . ." Harry mumbled, mostly to himself. Bellatrix heard him nonetheless._

 _"Of course, you could travel like a filthy muggle," Bellatrix sneered. She may not be her insane self now, but one mention of muggles — or muggleborns for that matter — was often enough to drive her over the edge. "Why don't you give up your wand and then you can spend your life flying around in those contraptions to your heart's content?"_

" _What is your problem with muggles anyway?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. He had heard pureblood fanatics raving about muggles, but Bellatrix's hatred had always seemed to be at a more personal level. "What did they ever do to you?"_

 _"Muggles are barbarians! Didn't they teach you history at Hogwarts? Do you not know how they have prosecuted us throughout the ages? Thanks to them we can't even live freely! No! We have to hide our magic around them — as if we are the ones who are the freaks of nature. . ." Bellatrix was ranting now. "And remember the so-called World War you talked about?"_

 _Harry did remember. A couple of weeks ago, he had somehow gotten into an argument with her about the World Wars, the Nazis and the parallels that Voldemort had with Hitler._

 _". . . think we were unaffected? No, those flying contraptions that rained fire from the sky did not discriminate between muggles and wizards! What right did they have to drag us into a war we had nothing to do with?" Bellatrix looked at him challengingly._

 _"How was it different from what your Lord and his minions are doing? Are they not dragging muggles into a war they have nothing to do with?"_

 _"That is different!"_

 _"Oh? How so?"_

 _Bellatrix struggled to come up with answer — just like every other time he had dug deep into the roots of her beliefs. Finally, she turned the question on him, "How can_ you _, of all people, not have a problem with muggles, Potter? I heard your muggle family were not exactly the pleasant sort?"_

 _"That is simple, I judge people on their individual merits. I don't believe in stereotypes. . ."_

 _"So you don't believe all Slytherins are evil?" she mocked._

 _Harry snorted, "Maybe when I was a naïve wide-eyed kid. . . When the only Slytherins I knew about were Voldemort and Malfoy and his ilk. One had murdered my parents, and the other was a snot nosed brat whose only talent was whining to his father. . ." He paused for second then spoke — in a tone reminiscent of a young Draco, "I am telling my father. . . Wait till my father hears of this. . ."_

 _Bellatrix had an amused smile on her face, "He did do that, didn't he?"_

 _"Yeah. Now that I think about it, if I hadn't met him and maybe, Ron, before the sorting, I might very well have been a Slytherin. . . The hat certainly wanted me there. . . I asked it to put me anywhere but Slytherin. . . I really wanted to stay away from Malfoy. . ."_

 _Bellatrix was looking at him strangely, as if seeing him for the first time. "You are a strange one, Potter. Somehow, I just can't see a stereotypical Gryffindor becoming a Slytherin. . ."_

 _There was an awkward pause in which Harry reminisced about his first year at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, that brought back the memories of his friends which he had been working very hard on keeping suppressed. He finally broke the silence, more to distract himself than anything else, and said, "You never answered my question. . ."_

 _"Which one?"_

 _"What did the muggles — or muggleborns, for that matter — ever do to you?"_

 _"Weren't you listening. . ."_

 _"That's not what I mean. Your hatred has always felt more personal – not like the rest of them. . ."_

 _There was another awkward silence when Bellatrix seemed to be contemplating her answer._

" _Nothing," she replied after a long pause._

" _Really? Then why?" asked Harry, bewildered._

" _I just follow my Lord's doctrine," replied the barely sane witch, pausing for dramatic effect, "To. The. Letter." She looked directly into his eyes emphasising the last three words._

 _Harry was stunned. He had never expected that for an answer. But then, Bellatrix had always seemed more fanatical than the rest of the Death Eaters put together._

 _"Why? What did he ever do for you?"_

 _For a second, it seemed like Bellatrix was going to slip under the cover of insanity as she did so often, but then she spoke in a barely audible voice, a haunted look in her eyes._

 _"He saved me from the hell my life had become," she replied._

 _Harry didn't speak, hoping she would say more._

 _"What do you plan to do to me, Potter?" she finally asked, shaking herself out of her stupor._

 _"Huh?"_

" _If you are planning to get out of the country, it's not like you are going to keep me with you. . ."_

 _Harry had considered his options in the past. It was true — he didn't have the resources to detain her indefinitely, regardless of his travel plans. She was a very capable witch. Sooner or later, she was going to find a way out. That was simply not something he was willing to consider — she was too dangerous to let go. The only other option was killing her, but while he had killed in the heat of the battle, he doubted he could bring himself to do it in cold blood — no matter how much he hated her._

" _I don't know," he finally replied._

 _Bellatrix didn't respond. She seemed to be deep in thought — as if she was trying to decide something. After a while Harry realised that she wasn't going to say anymore. He vanished his chair and was about to leave the she called out._

" _Wait!"_

 _Harry turned back, "What?"_

" _What if I. . ." she hesitated, "what if I told you there is a way you can fix it all?"_

" _Fix what, exactly?"_

" _All of it."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _When the Dark Lord heard that you had taken the Horcrux from my vault — yes, I figured out what it was months ago," she snapped when Harry showed signs of interrupting. "As I was saying, when he heard about it, he was furious, but more importantly, he was afraid. He disappeared for a couple of hours. . ."_

 _Harry knew he had gone to secure his remaining Horcruxes._

" _Once he came back, he ordered the inner circle to organise the attack. Normally, I'd be among the ones organising the forces, but he asked me to stay back. Once everyone had cleared out, he told me about a contingency plan in case things went wrong at Hogwarts. I was supposed to execute it if anything happened to Nagini. . . I suspect the snake is his second Horcrux. . ."_

" _More like the seventh," mumbled Harry, before he could stop himself._

" _Seven?" whispered a shocked Bellatrix. "How is that even possible? And you destroyed them all?"_

" _Four of them. Hermione had the cup with her — and we never found the one hidden in Hogwarts. . ." Harry knew he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. But he didn't think it mattered anymore. Voldemort knew anyway._

" _Did you make one yourself?"_

" _What? No!" Harry protested. "I'd rather die than do something that horrible!"_

" _How did you survive then? I saw you getting hit by the Killing Curse. Narcissa verified that you were dead. And the Dark Lord cast at least three Cruciatus Curses on your body. You didn't even twitch. No one has a pain tolerance that high!"_

 _Harry hesitated, not sure if he could tell her. "Can we get back to the plan?"_

" _No. I need to know what kind of a person I am dealing with before I can tell you a secret as dangerous as this. I am not betraying one Dark Lord for another."_

 _The irony of being judged by Bellatrix Lestrange, of all people, was not lost on Harry._

 _They stared at each other stubbornly for what seemed like ages — neither willing to give an inch._

 _Harry finally relented, "I did die. I was the sixth Horcrux. Tom didn't know about it, of course. . . The Killing Curse destroyed it, and I somehow survived. . . Perhaps I should have tried it on the other Horcruxes. . . Could've saved us a lot of trouble. . ."_

 _Bellatrix gave him another one of her looks that clearly said, "What an idiot!"_

" _The sword — it was one of them, wasn't it?" she asked after a while, almost excitedly._

" _No, that is what we were using to destroy them. It was imbibed with Basilisk venom from the time I used it to kill that ruddy thing in the Chamber of Secrets. Can we get back to the plan now?" Harry asked irritably._

 _It seemed like Bellatrix wanted to ask more questions, but decided to hold her tongue for the time being. "The Dark Lord has travelled extensively across the world. During his travels, he has found some esoteric magic and unique tools. One of them allows you to — for the lack of a better expression — travel back in time."_

" _You mean — like a Time Turner?"_

" _No, not like a Time Turner. A Time Turner doesn't allow you change anything that has already happened — and even the most powerful Time Turner is limited to a few days. We are talking about years — even decades — and you can change whatever you want."_

 _She paused to let the implications of it sink in._

" _How far did he want to go back?" Harry finally asked, feeling nervous at the prospect of Voldemort having access to such power. It was one thing to kill people, but the ability to prevent people from being born by altering the time line in the hands of someone like Voldemort was too scary to even think about._

" _Twenty-three years."_

" _Why twenty-three?"_

" _The ritual allows you to travel only a certain number of years — seven, thirteen, twenty-three, thirty-seven — the magical primes. . ."_

" _The magical. . . what?"_

" _You didn't study Arithmancy, did you?" Harry shook his head. "Certain numbers have magical properties. . ."_

" _I have heard that before. . . So why twenty-three? Why not one of the others?"_

" _Don't ask me — I don't claim to know everything that goes on in his head," Bellatrix snapped._

" _Why are you telling me all this?" Harry asked, suddenly very suspicious._

 _Bellatrix gave him an irritated look, "Isn't it obvious? I am asking if you would want to go back and fix things."_

* * *

Harry had initially refused. He still remembered Hermione's warning from their third year.

"Awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time," she had said.

But he had finally come around when Bellatrix had informed him of the magnitude of Voldemort's plans. Apparently, his explanation of the kind of power muggles were capable of wielding when driven into a corner had scared her more than he had expected.

Once he had come around, Harry had originally wanted to go back seven years, the lowest possible allowed by the ritual. He was afraid that the further he went, the more damage he was likely to cause by his actions.

But it turned out that choice had never been his to make. The ritual had already been prepared and Bellatrix did not know how to alter it. Voldemort had apparently figured out a way to convert rituals into tattoos — a technique common among Japanese wizards. He had prepared the ritual and imprinted the tattoo on Bellatrix — ready to be executed with the addition of the final component.

It was the final component that had Harry reconsidering his decision.

The final ingredient, according to Bellatrix, was the willing sacrifice of a powerful witch or wizard. She had apparently been devoted enough to Voldemort that he had trusted her with it.

Harry may have been many things, a cold-blooded killer he was not. He had almost decided to drop the idea when Bellatrix had set him straight.

"Even if you don't kill me, the Dark Lord will. I was not supposed to participate in the battle. I was to stay at his side at all times — ready to perform the ritual at a moment's notice. I defied that order by coming after you. And he will make it a lot more painful than it must be."

Harry still hadn't been convinced.

"Look Potter, my life is forfeit either way. At least this way, my death will not be completely meaningless," she had almost pleaded with him.

Harry had completely understood the sentiment. After all, he had chosen to return from dead with similar motives.

And that is why he had agreed to go through with it — however reluctantly.

* * *

The goblin — Silvershark — informed Harry that it was finally the time for the meeting and guided him to the massive ornate doors of a meeting room. The other participants were already waiting at the door with another goblin.

"You have exactly three hours. Your time will start the moment the door is closed," Silvershark informed them, pointing to the giant hourglass kept on the ornate table.

The door closed behind them as they entered the room, sealing it from all forms of spying, divining and scrying.

Harry finally took down his hood as the elderly couple sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Hello, Grandfather! Grandmother!" he said lamely, wishing he had come up with a better introduction.

* * *

 **Story Recommendation**

Delenda Est by Lord Silvere. It is a great story — one of the two that inspired this one.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

Thank you for reading. I'd like to clarify a few things before someone points them out.

— Bellatrix didn't change overnight. There were a lot of factors involved. They will be revealed over time.  
— If the chapter feels a bit rushed, it is because I didn't want to reiterate things already explained in the books. Upcoming chapters will be more descriptive.

Let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

 **Published: May 11, 2017**  
 **Last Updated: May 30, 2017**


	2. The Potters

**The Potters**

* * *

 **Disclaimer**

Harry Potter and associated content are the property of their respective owners – I am definitely not one of them.

* * *

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter were an elderly couple living in the quaint little village of Godric's Hollow, along with their fifteen-year-old son, James, who had recently returned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the summer vacations. Fleamont was a slightly built man with a receding hairline and a jovial face. He was not the sort to get into arguments or duels, despite being rather skilled with his wand. His wife Euphemia, though slightly easier to irritate than her husband, was normally a cheerful and friendly woman. Overall, they were the textbook example of a harmless old couple.

The Potters were well respected in the wizarding community. Before his retirement, Fleamont Potter had been a widely acclaimed potioneer and businessman. He was famous for his discovery of the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion – an invention which had helped him quadruple the family gold. At one point, he had even been offered a seat on the Wizengamot. Not being the political sort, he had declined the offer.

Not being very materialistic, the Potters had decided that they had earned enough to last them a lifetime and had sold the potions business to go into an early retirement around the time they had turned forty – the sale adding another sizeable amount of gold to their vault.

As far as the Potters were concerned, their life had been nearly perfect – except for one thing. They had found themselves unable to have children for the longest time. So naturally, they had been delighted when they had found out that Euphemia was pregnant in the fourth decade of their lives.

They had been so happy to have James that they had raised him like a pampered little prince, turning a blind eye to all but most serious of his misdemeanours. As a result, James had grown into a spoiled brat who got into trouble every other day – if the complaints from the school were to be believed.

The Potters did not particularly enjoy socialising. While they were not exactly reclusive, they were not gregarious either. That is to say, while they didn't avoid social events, they didn't go out of their way to attend them either. They simply preferred to enjoy their retirement in peace. They had a few close friends and fewer enemies.

Which is why Fleamont was surprised when he received a letter requesting a meeting at a time and place of his choosing.

* * *

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _Hope you are doing well. I am writing this letter to request a meeting with you to discuss a matter of great importance to both our families. It is a rather sensitive matter. I'd appreciate your discretion – at least until we have had a chance to get better acquainted._

 _You may be wondering who I am. Rest assured, all will be explained once we meet. Given the sensitivity of the matter, I'd rather not put too much into the letter in case it falls into the wrong hands._

 _I understand that you may be reluctant to meet a stranger. To assure you that I mean you no harm, I'll let you choose the time and place of the meeting. The owl will wait for your reply._

 _Given that this is a family matter, I'll not object to you bringing your wife along. If nothing else, it will save you the trouble of having to explain the situation to her. But please keep this within your family for the time being._

 _Hoping to make your acquaintance soon._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry_

* * *

"What do you think?" asked Fleamont, showing the letter to Euphemia.

"Harry? Do we know any Harrys?" she asked.

"I don't believe so. . ." replied Fleamont, reading the letter again, looking for any clues he might have missed. "I wonder if he is someone looking to betroth his daughter to James. . . He does mention it's a family matter. . ."

"Well, if he is, he is going to be disappointed, isn't he? We are not forcing our son to marry some random girl against his will!" exclaimed Euphemia.

"Of course not," replied Fleamont. Unlike most old pureblood families, the Potters didn't believe in forcing their children into arranged marriages.

"Let's meet him at Gringotts. It's probably not a good idea to let him into the house till we figure out who he is and what he wants," suggested Euphemia.

"Sounds like a reasonable plan," replied Fleamont as he summoned up some fresh parchment and a quill from his study.

* * *

" _Hello, Grandfather! Grandmother!"_

"What is the meaning of this, James?" Fleamont almost yelled at the sight of the boy he thought was his son, "I usually don't mind you pranks, but this is going too far. What are you playing at?" He finally noticed Euphemia tugging at his sleeve.

"He is not James, Fleamont. Look closely. . ."

Looking closely, he realised that while the boy did look a lot like James, there were some subtle differences. The boy sitting before him was skinnier than James and his facial features were slightly more delicate. Most importantly, his eyes were emerald green instead of James' hazel ones.

"Who are you?" asked Fleamont, once he had composed himself. "And what do you mean by Grandfather?"

"It's a long story," replied the boy, who looked more than a little lost. "But I really am your grandson. My name is Harry Potter. . ."

Fleamont was getting angry again – which was saying something - he was usually a very patient man. But the idea of someone trying to exploit his family claiming to be his grandson was enough to put him on edge. Unlike the heirs of certain rich pureblood families, he had never had any pre- or extra-marital affairs that could have led to such a thing.

Fortunately for him, Euphemia interfered before he could vocalize his thoughts – having already guessed where her husband's thoughts were headed. "Why don't you explain from the beginning, dear?" she asked, not unkindly.

The boy dragged his hand through his hair, making it messier. The resemblance to James was almost uncanny now.

"I know it is hard to believe, but please bear with me," pleaded Harry. "What do you know about Time Travel?"

"I have heard rumours that the Unspeakables experiment with it down in the Department of Mysteries. . . Aren't you a bit young to be one of them?" asked Fleamont, looking disbelieving.

"No, I am not an Unspeakable. . ." replied Harry, trying to figure out how to go about explaining his situation. "How about I tell you my story and then I can answer any questions you may have?"

"How can I trust you to tell the truth?" asked Fleamont.

"I'll answer any questions you may have under Veritaserum," replied Harry.

Fleamont considered his options, "There is an easier way – the Goblins can easily verify if you are a Potter. . ."

"I am not sure if that is a good idea. You'll understand why after I have told my story. . ."

Fleamont and Euphemia shared a look. "Alright, get on with it," said Fleamont, looking resigned.

"As I said, my name is Harry James Potter. I was born to James and Lily Potter on 31st of July 1980. My parents. . ." he paused for a second, wondering if it was a good idea to reveal to the old couple that their son would die in about six years' time – or at least he had in the original timeline. Realising that he didn't really have a choice if he wanted them to understand his situation, he continued, "They were murdered when I was little more than a year old. . ."

Euphemia gasped and clutched at her heart, "My son died?" Fleamont was looking disturbed himself.

Harry nodded sadly, "Yes Mrs. Potter – I swear it will not happen this time – not if I have anything to say about it. . ." he muttered the last part to himself, but the elderly couple heard him anyway.

"How did it happen?" asked Fleamont.

"They were betrayed by someone they thought was a close friend. Voldemort turned up at their house in Godric's Hollow on the Halloween of 1981. . ."

"Who is that?" asked Fleamont, looking sceptical. "I've never heard of a Voldemort. . ."

Harry had anticipated that. Dumbledore had once told him that Voldemort had not come out in the open till sometime in 1977. Until then, it was mostly cloak-and-dagger operations – an assassination here, a disappearance there. . . While Voldemort had already become notorious in certain circles, he wouldn't become a household name until much later.

"His real name is Tom Riddle. He claims to be the last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin. . ."

Fleamont looked like he was about to interrupt again, but harry raised his hand to forestall him.

"I think it is better if I showed you. And then I can answer any questions you may have," said Harry, pulling out the shrunken Pensieve from his pocket, which expanded to its full size with a tap of the Elder Wand. "This is a Pensieve. It is used to. . ."

"I know what it is used for," Fleamont cut him off.

Harry nodded and started pulling out his memories. While he couldn't show them everything in less than three hours, he hoped that the highlights would be enough to earn their trust.

"I don't think you should go in," remarked Harry, looking at Euphemia. "It's not pretty. . ."

Euphemia looked ready to protest, but Fleamont pre-empted her with a shake of his head.

Euphemia finally acquiesced, even though she didn't look happy about it. "So you claim to be James' son. . . Who is your Mother?" she asked as Fleamont dove in.

"Lily Potter – Evans," he corrected himself, "She is a Gryffindor in the same year as dad – I mean, James. . . You can't tell them," he added quickly. "Sirius once told me that she hated his guts well into sixth year. Apparently, he had annoyed her one time too many."

Euphemia chuckled. "I can certainly believe that," she said shaking her head. They may have ignored them, but the Potter parents were not unaware of their son's misdemeanours. "So you knew Sirius? What about us? Did we raise you?"

"I was always told I was the last Potter – I never knew any of you," Harry replied sadly.

Euphemia went pale. Harry felt bad for her. He hadn't meant to be so blunt, but he couldn't see a way out of it. After an awkward silence, she asked him more questions about his life, but thankfully stayed away from the more sensitive topics. Turned out she had been a Quidditch fanatic in her youth. That was one topic he was very comfortable with. They happily discussed the state of various teams in their respective times. She laughed heartily when he told her that the Chudley Cannons were still at the rock bottom. Her uncle had apparently been on the team the last time they had won the title.

Fleamont emerged from the Pensieve about an hour later, white-faced and shaking. Without uttering a single word, he went the bar in the corner, picked up the bottle of Ogden's Finest Oak Matured Mead and pored himself a generous measure.

It took him ages before he calmed down, but he continued to stare at Harry incredulously. Harry squirmed in his seat as he grew more and more nervous.

It was Euphemia who broke the silence first. "What did you see?" she whispered, clearly upset to see her husband so shaken.

Fleamont shook his head, "He is our grandson, alright. No one can forge that many memories without giving themselves away. Never thought I'd meet a child that gets into more trouble than James does. Figures his son would be ten times – no, make that hundred times – worse. What kind of a moron tries to outfly a dragon? A Hungarian Horntail, no less?"

"Surely, you are joking," exclaimed Euphemia.

"I wish I were. And that is one of the lesser things he did," he muttered. "We need to discuss where to go from here," he continued. "I'll explain later," he added to Euphemia when she seemed ready ask more questions.

"I don't want to be any trouble. I have enough money to go by. I can change my name and use a Glamour Charm or something. . ." Harry protested. He wanted to get to know his family, but didn't want to force himself into their lives. He did have an ulterior motive, though. He wanted to be close enough to them to be able to act if – or when – Voldemort came calling.

"You will do no such thing! You are my grandson – Potters don't forsake family in the time of need," Fleamont cut across his protests.

"But. . ."

"No. While I can clearly see that you have faced much more than many generations of Potters combined, and that I can't stop you from doing what you must, I can't in good conscience turn you away – not after watching everything I did. . ." he shuddered.

"How will we introduce him?" asked Euphemia, trusting in her husband's judgement.

Fleamont was thoughtful, "I suppose he could be a distant cousin. . ."

"No one will buy that. He practically looks like James' twin. . ."

Fleamont turned his head sharply towards her, "What did you say?"

"Can't you see? You mistook him for James, for Merlin's sake! Place them side by side and they will look like twins. . ."

"That's it! We'll present him as James' twin!" beamed Fleamont. "It's not unheard of for old families to hide a son or two. . ."

Harry was watching them wide eyes. They were trying to make him his father's twin! While he wasn't opposed to the idea of getting to know his teenage father, he could see too many problems with the approach.

"But I am three years older than him," he protested.

"Really?" asked Euphemia, looking surprised. "You look, maybe slightly older, but not more than that. . ." Harry had always been scrawny for his age – thanks to the Dursleys. "In any case, it's not something a De-Ageing Potion can't fix. It's virtually undetectable – unless someone is specifically looking for it. . ."

"But what will you tell him?" asked Harry. "He is just a kid – it won't be fair to him. . ."

"The truth," replied Fleamont. "My son may be immature at times, but he'll understand. If not, we'll show him your memories. He needs to grow up fast if a war is brewing. . ." He looked deeply troubled.

"But. . ."

"Harry," Fleamont cut him off, looking very serious. "Before you can do anything else, you need legitimacy in this time – you need to officially exist. You don't want DMLE, or worse, the Unspeakables, looking too closely into your past. Going to Hogwarts and getting your OWLs is the easiest way to go about it."

After a brief internal debate, Harry reluctantly agreed. While he was not too keen on repeating his school years, he did need to get into Hogwarts for multiple reasons. First and foremost, there was the Horcrux they had never found. He had never asked Dumbledore about the exact year when Tom Riddle had come looking for a job. He suspected there was a good chance that it was already at Hogwarts. In addition to that, he needed the resources that only Hogwarts could provide – resources like its world class library, the teachers, the Room of Requirements and even the Forbidden Forest. Lastly, Hogwarts had been the recruiting ground for Voldemort throughout the 70s. He hoped to be able to keep an eye and if possible, hinder the process to the best of his abilities.

He completely understood his grandfather's concern that taking his OWLs out of band could potentially bring unwanted attention to him. The cost of the exams, when conducted on-demand, could easily run into hundreds of Galleons – if not more – depending on the availability of the examiners. A young man with an unknown background willing to spend such a huge amount was bound to raise some eyebrows – even with the Potters' backing. He was not too keen on giving anyone a reason to look into his past. The last thing he needed was someone like Barty Crouch trying to use him as a scapegoat to hide their failure to account for Voldemort's activities.

While Harry was not likely to forgive Dumbledore in a hurry, he acknowledged that if there was one thing the old man had done very well over the years, it was keeping external influence at Hogwarts to a minimum – except for his original fifth year. At Hogwarts, the only one whose attention he had to avoid was Dumbledore himself. Not having the prophecy hanging over his head anymore was likely to help in that regard.

He had originally planned to try and land himself a job as a teacher in a year's time after taking his OWLs and NEWTs out of band. But his grandfather's approach worked way better. He'd get two years at Hogwarts before Voldemort made a public appearance – assuming he chose to stick to the old timeline. While his movements would be restricted as a student, he knew the old castle well enough to get out whenever he wanted.

"You'll need to learn to call us mum and dad, Harry," said Euphemia, as Harry put his memories back into his head and shrunk the Pensieve.

That brought a genuine smile on his face for the first time in months.

* * *

About an hour later, Harry found himself at his grandparents' house at Godric's Hollow. It was not too far away from the one where his parents had been murdered. It was a quaint little cottage with three bedrooms and a rather large backyard - neither too extravagant, nor too shabby. Harry had the distinct impression that the interior was at least slightly bigger than one would assume by looking at the exterior.

He definitely liked it a lot better than his childhood home in Surrey.

"Euphemia, can you find James and send him to the study?" Fleamont requested his wife as he steered Harry towards it.

"Of course, dear!" Fleamont had already given her an abridged version of the memories before they had left Gringotts.

Unlike the rest of the of the house, the study was, simply put, impressive. It was certainly larger than the tiny little room it looked like from outside.

"It is the collection of all the knowledge gathered by generations of Potters," said Fleamont, having noticed that Harry was looking at it in undisguised awe. "Anything you find here is considered a family secret, not to be discussed with anyone who is not a Potter – no matter how close you may be to them. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. While he had spent too much time with being friends with Hermione to like the idea of knowledge not being free, he certainly understood the necessity. Besides, it was not his biggest concern at the moment.

* * *

"Dad, you called for me?" asked a voice from the doorway.

"Come in James," beckoned Fleamont, "and close the door behind you."

Closing the door, James walked up to the elegant mahogany desk they were standing around.

"Who are you?" asked James, noticing Harry for the first time. "You look just like me. . . Is he a cousin, Dad?" asked the confused teenager.

Harry, meanwhile, was staring at the teenager who would grow into his father. While he already knew what he was supposed to look like from Snape's memory he had witnessed in his fifth year, seeing him in flesh was another matter altogether. He noticed that while James looked almost exactly like him, there were certain subtle differences. His father had a certain posture, a certain air of confidence about him that Harry had never had. And he could definitely understand why his grandmother had had a hard time believing that he was three years older than James. Unlike him, his father had never been a malnourished child. He had clearly been brought up in a loving – even pampering – family.

Fleamont rubbed his eyes. Now that James was there, he realised it was going to be difficult.

"Take a seat, son." James obeyed.

"He is not a cousin, he is in fact, your son," said Fleamont, biting the bullet.

James blinked – once. . . twice. . . thrice. . . Then he grinned.

"Brilliant dad! Now I know where I get my sense of humour from!"

Fleamont groaned – this was going to be more difficult than he had imagined.

"Not everything is a joke, James," he replied, raising his voice slightly. "This is a serious situation. . ."

James was stunned – his father rarely raised his voice.

"How. . . What . . ." he babbled incoherently, not able to decide what to ask first.

"He was born in in 1980. . ."

"It's 1975., dad! What are you talking about?"

"Just shut up and listen," said Fleamont, gesturing for Harry to take over the story.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling very nervous. It was one thing to reveal everything to his grandparents, but James was a teenager – an immature one at that.

"Well, I was born on 31st of July, 1980 to you and. . ." He hesitated, not wanting to reveal the identity of his mother yet, "never mind. The point is, there was a dark wizard who called himself Voldemort. For some reasons, he wanted us dead. While you and mum managed to avoid him for ages, he managed to find us on the Halloween of 1981. . ."

James swallowed, "So he is real, this Voldemort fellow?"

"How do you know about him, James?" asked Fleamont, sharper than he had intended.

"Well, I. . . kind of. . . heard some of the Slytherins talking about him. . ." James said nervously, "I was under the. . . you-know-what." He finished giving a significant look to his father.

"You mean this?" asked Harry, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket.

"Hey, that's mine! Where did you get it?" James protested.

"Haven't you been listening? I travelled back in time! I inherited this one from you. Yours is still wherever you kept it." Harry couldn't help but feel a little irritated at his father's apparent immaturity.

"Oh," said James, looking abashed.

"Anyway, Voldemort killed you first. You didn't even have your wand on you. Then he went for my mother. He killed her when she refused to stand aside and let him kill me. . ." Harry continued to give James an abridged summary of his life at Hogwarts – avoiding the more sensitive topics like Pettigrew and Sirius. He did tell him about the prophecy, though. It was rather hard to explain his life without it, after all. James had gone pale when he had heard of his own death. Fortunately, he had the good sense not to interrupt him again.

It took him nearly half an hour to go through the story of his life. His voice was hoarse from speaking for so long. He conjured himself a glass of water while Fleamont confirmed to James that he had witnessed Harry's memories and had verified everything he had said.

James still looked disbelieving. "I am not ready to be a father!" he said weakly.

"You don't have to be, James," replied Fleamont kindly. He explained the plan to introduce Harry as his twin in great detail. It was vital for James to understand and agree to it – or it would never work. Harry, not wanting to burden a teenager with such a huge secret, offered, once again, to walk out of their lives and change his name.

"No, if you're who you say you are, I can't just turn you out. What kind of a person will that make me?" asked James rhetorically. "No," he shook his head, "but if we are going to do this, I don't want there to be any doubts. . ." He seemed lost in thought – as if debating something internally. Finally, he addressed Fleamont, "Dad, I want you to do the blood compatibility test for the two of us."

Harry was about to protest about not wanting to go to the Goblins, but Fleamont pre-empted him. "That is fine. He is not talking about the Goblins' verification, Harry. It is something we can do right here."

"Alright, I suppose," Harry replied, a bit hesitantly.

Fleamont brought a small bowl, a ceremonial dagger and a delicate looking cylindrical silver instrument from one of the shelves. Harry thought that the instrument looked familiar – though he couldn't quite put his finger on where he had seen it before.

"Put a few drops of your blood into the bowl," he said handing the dagger to James. Harry used a mild cutting hex to draw out the blood from his palm before sealing the wound shut. Fleamont added a few drops of a blue coloured liquid into the mixture and used a spell to siphon off the resulting mixture into the silver instrument. Finally, he tapped the instrument with his wand, causing crimson smoke to rise out of it.

"What does it mean?" asked Harry.

"Red means a parent and child relationship," confirmed Fleamont. James was slack jawed.

"So you really are my son!" he finally exclaimed. "Who was your mother?"

"Umm. . ." Harry wasn't sure what to say. If James were to go to Lily with that information, it could cause all sorts of trouble. The decision was taken away from though.

"It was Evans, wasn't it? You have the same eyes as her."

Harry groaned, "Look, you can't tell her. . ."

Surprisingly, James nodded, "I understand. It'll happen when it's meant to be."

Harry was surprised the sudden bout of maturity.

"It will be one hell of a prank!" James finally grinned. "Dad," he shouted at his father who was coming back after putting things back to their shelves, "my son won the Triwizard Tournament at fourteen. I've got you beat there!"

Harry face-palmed. 'So much for the maturity!' he thought resignedly.

* * *

The Potters – including Harry – were halfway through their breakfast the next morning when a rather large barn owl landed on their windowsill with an official looking letter. James, who was the closest, went to retrieve it.

"It's from Hogwarts," remarked James, "but it's addressed to you, dad. Why'd they write to you?" he asked as he handed the letter over.

"I wrote to Dumbledore about getting Harry enrolled into Hogwarts," Fleamont announced as he slit open the Hogwarts seal on the envelope. "And he wants to send someone to talk to you before confirming the enrolment," he informed Harry as he read the letter.

Harry shrugged – he was used to Dumbledore's eccentricities. "When?"

"In two days' time. I guess they want to ensure that you are good enough to enrol directly as a fifth year. We need to administer the De-Ageing Potion before that. . ."

"And I need to get myself a wand," added Harry.

"What's wrong with your wand?" asked James.

Harry sighed, wondering if it was a good idea to tell them about the Elder Wand. Finally, he settled on the partial truth, "I broke mine in an accident before I came here. The one I am carrying has got a long history. . . Dumbledore used to carry this wand before his death. . . Someone is bound to recognise it. . ."

"Why don't you want to tell Dumbledore? You know, about the future?" asked James suddenly. "He could handle this Voldemort fellow. He beat Grindelwald, didn't he?"

Harry almost snorted. He couldn't really blame James for being naïve – he himself had once proudly accepted the accusation of being Dumbledore's man through and through, after all. Fortunately, he was saved from having to come up with an excuse by Fleamont.

"James, we discussed this last night, didn't we? Harry's past, or future, is a family secret. We are not telling anyone outside the family. Harry will decide when it is safe to bring other people into the secret."

They had indeed had a rather long discussion at dinner. The three generations of Potter had worked out every little detail of Harry's imaginary past to ensure that it was iron-clad – in case someone got too nosey. Harry shuddered at the thought of someone like Rita Skeeter looking into his past. They had also decided that the secret had to stay within the family. James had not wanted to lie to his friends – especially Sirius – but had agreed when Harry had reminded him that there were magical methods to extract information forcibly from people.

"But it's Dumbledore we are talking about! He can protect himself, can't he?" remarked an unhappy James.

"And Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock and the Supreme Mugwump. There is a good chance he may be under oath to disclose something as significant as this," replied Fleamont, covering for Harry. He had never been one to follow someone blindly – even before Harry had shown him the memory of his last encounter with the old wizard.

Harry himself was divided on the topic. He knew that he'd have to pass some information to Dumbledore at some point, but he didn't trust the old wizard not to make a mess of things with his clever and convoluted schemes.

Fortunately, James didn't press any further.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Harry found himself walking down the Diagon Alley towards Ollivander's Wand Shop, along with Fleamont, who had insisted on accompanying him. Harry had wanted to protest that he was used to doing thing things alone, but hadn't managed to come up with a good excuse quickly enough.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. To Harry's surprise, it looked exactly the same as it had done when he had bought his first wand. It was a tiny place, empty, except for the single, spindly chair. Harry, however, was not an innocent eleven-year-old anymore. He was no longer spooked by the eeriness of the place. He didn't even bat an eyelash when Ollivander greeted them in his soft, spooky voice – his pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Good Morning!"

"Good Morning," Harry returned the greeting, sounding unusually cheerful "you must be Mr. Ollivander. . ."

"Indeed, I am! How can I assist you Mr. . ."

"Potter," replied Fleamont, "He's my son."

"Ah! I thought I saw the resemblance. I just didn't want to assume anything. . ." Ollivander looked like he had just noticed Fleamont. "Fleamont! Didn't know you had another son?"

"He was living abroad," replied Fleamont, sticking to the story they had agreed upon. "Garrick, I'd really appreciate your discretion on this matter," he added seriously.

"Of course, old friend," replied Ollivander, knowing better than to pry into things that didn't concern him. "So how can I help you this fine morning?"

"I need a wand," replied Harry. "I accidently broke my old one," he added at Ollivander's questioning look.

"I see," replied Ollivander absently as he pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I am right-handed," replied Harry.

"Hold out your arm." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry wondered if the old wand-maker recited the same speech for every single customer.

Once he was done measuring, Ollivander returned with handful of boxes. "Try this one, Mr. Potter. Elm and unicorn hair. Twelve and a quarter inches. Nice and supple. . ."

Harry, remembering his first trip to the store, took the wand and gave it a wave.

"That wouldn't work, Mr. Potter. Once you've used a wand for a while, your magic is much more controlled. Try casting a simple spell," said Ollivander.

" _Lumos!"_ The tip of the wand lit up, but it wasn't the bright light he was used to. Additionally, he could feel the wand actively resisting his magic. He handed the wand back to Ollivander, shaking his head.

"Try this one. Ash and unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Springy."

Harry realized with a jolt that the wand looked very familiar. It was Ron's first wand – the one that had backfired and wiped Lockhart's memories. It had originally belonged to Bill or Charlie – he couldn't remember which. Unfortunately, it worked even worse than the first one.

"Ebony and phoenix feather. Ten and a half inches. Quite rigid."

"Yew and dragon heartstring. Thirteen and a quarter inches. Nice and flexible."

"Fir and dragon heartstring. Fourteen inches. Whippy."

And just like his first time, Harry tried and tried and tried. But unlike his first time, Ollivander didn't seem to get happier as the pile of tried wand got higher and higher. Harry hoped the old wand maker would bring out his trusty old holly and phoenix feather wand soon. He was getting rather frustrated, having already tried close to forty wands without much success. Some of them had worked better than the others, but none of them felt right to him. He wondered if he had somehow gotten too attuned to his old wand.

"I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but I should have led with this. What was your old wand made of?" asked an unhappy looking Ollivander.

"Holly and phoenix feather," replied Harry, before he could stop himself.

"Hmm. . . That's an unusual combination. Let's see. . ."

"Holly and dragon heartstring. Eleven Inches. Rather flexible."

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches, Quite whippy."

Harry spent another half an hour trying out any wand that had either holly or phoenix feather in it and some that didn't. The much-awaited holly and phoenix feather wand never showed up.

Harry was panicking. He had always assumed his and Voldemort's wands had been made around the same time. What had happened? Had someone bought his old wand before he could get to it? Could he already have changed so much since his jump in time? Was it possible that the wand hadn't even been crafted yet? Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed what Ollivander was saying.

". . .tried every single wand that had even a remote chance of working for you. . . This has never happened before. . . I have always found a wand for every single witch or wizard who has stepped through these doors. . ." He seemed to take it as a personal affront.

"What are our options, Garrick?" asked Fleamont, who was looking rather surprised himself.

"Well, I guess I'll have to make a custom wand. But that will take some time. None of my usual wood and core combinations seem to work for your son. I'll have to import some rather exotic materials. In the meantime, you can take one of the wands that worked better than the rest – free of charge, of course. . ." Ollivander hesitated, looking ashamed of what he was about to say, "Or you could try one of the other makers. . ."

"Why not try making a holly and phoenix feather wand?" asked Fleamont. "Harry could give you the exact dimensions. . ."

"It doesn't work like that. Based on what I saw here, I highly doubt another holly wand will ever work for your son. He must have changed significantly since he bought that wand," replied Ollivander, looking somewhat relieved that they hadn't immediately moved on to a different wand maker.

"But my wand worked very well until very recently!" interjected Harry. He had no doubt that he had changed a lot since he had bought his old wand, but he couldn't have changed that much in a few short months, could he?

"I have no doubt it did, Mr. Potter. A wand grows with a wizard – it changes with you. How badly was it broken? Do you still have it?"

"It broke cleanly into two pieces. I showed it to another wand maker who told me it was impossible to repair," replied Harry. He couldn't exactly tell Ollivander it was his future self who had made the assessment.

"He was probably correct. There is no way to repair a wand if the core has been damaged. . ." Ollivander contemplated.

"How long will it take for the custom wand to be ready?" asked Fleamont.

Ollivander sighed, "About four to eight weeks, depending upon the availability of materials. I'll send you an owl once the materials are available. You'll need to come back to test your affinity to various materials. . ."

"Are you really sure there is no other wand I could try?" asked Harry, almost desperately, not wanting to be caught using the Elder Wand in public.

Ollivander shook his head, looking apologetic. "Wait," he suddenly exclaimed and disappeared into the back of his shop. He returned a couple of minutes later, carrying an extremely dirty looking box.

"This is an experimental wand I made when I was young. Never worked for anyone. . . No harm in trying, though."

"Experimental? Is it safe?" asked Harry cautiously.

"It is absolutely safe, Mr. Potter. Give it a try," replied Ollivander, pushing the wand into Harry's hand.

Harry gasped, as he noticed, for the first time, that the wand looked very familiar. And he knew, the moment he held it, that it would work for him. He could feel the magic rushing into his fingers. He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air of the shop, not bothering with a spell this time, and a stream of red and green sparks came rushing out of the other end like fireworks.

Ollivander clapped, "Bravo Mr. Potter! Never thought I'd live long enough to see this wand work. . . Curious. . . Very curious indeed. . ."

"What is so curious about this wand Mr. Ollivander?" Harry couldn't help but ask. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"It is one of the most complicated wands I've ever made, Mr. Potter. It is one of the only five dual-core dual-wood wands I ever made. The other four were made of relatively simpler materials and had simpler designs. . ."

"What is it made of?" asked Fleamont.

"Yew and the horn of a horned serpent. Elder and phoenix feather. Thirteen inches. Reasonably flexible," replied a beaming Ollivander.

"I don't see any yew – it looks like all elder to me," remarked a puzzled Harry. And the was the crux of the dilemma he was facing. Not only was the wand made of elder wood, its design was remarkably similar to the Elder Wand, right down to the carvings that resembled clusters of elderberries running down its length. In fact, the only things that made it look different from the Elder Wand was its length and maybe the slightly lighter colour.

"That is the most remarkable thing about this one, Mr. Potter," replied Ollivander, looking very enthusiastic now, "There is a thin hollow cylinder of yew, filled with powdered horn of the horned serpent, wrapped in phoenix feather inside the outer casing which is made of elder wood. . . Can you imagine how incredibly complex and time consuming it was? It took me months to make it. Imagine how disappointed I was – my greatest creation, and I couldn't find a single person it worked for!"

"And what about the external design?" asked Harry, trying to figure how Ollivander had gotten the idea of making a replica of the most dangerous wand on the planet.

"It's a bit old fashioned, isn't it? I made it back in 1947, after all. . . Back then, everyone wanted a wand that looked like Dumbledore's. . . People were willing to pay twice or thrice the price to get that design. . ."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't need to worry if more wands looking like the Deathstick were out in the world. He'd still keep the real thing hidden, though.

"How much do I owe you Mr. Ollivander?"

"It will be 40 Galleons – and I'll throw in a jar of wand polish."

"I thought wands sold for much less," asked Harry. He remembered getting his old wand for seven Galleons.

"That's only for eleven year olds looking to buy their first wands, Mr. Potter. The Ministry subsidises them. One Wand Per Child – I believe the scheme is called," replied Ollivander.

"I see," said Harry as he went for his money pouch, only to realise that Fleamont had beaten him to it and handed Ollivander a Gringotts draft for the amount. Harry wanted to protest, but held his tongue. It wouldn't do for a _son_ to protest his _father_ paying for his wand, after all.

"Take good care of the wand, Mr. Potter. I sense you have a great destiny ahead of you. A wand this sophisticated doesn't yield its allegiance to just anyone," said Ollivander as they were leaving.

Harry grimaced. The last thing he needed was another 'destiny' mapped out for him.

* * *

 **Story Recommendation**

Stepping Back by the TheBlack'sResurgence. It was the second fic that inspired this one. I really hope the author finds time and motivation to update it soon.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

 **Published: May 18, 2017  
** **Last Updated: May 28, 2017** **  
**


	3. Summer of 75

**Summer of 75**

* * *

 **Disclaimer**

Harry Potter and associated content are the property of their respective owners – I am definitely not one of them.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was intrigued. It was only a couple of days ago when Minerva, his deputy, had brought to his attention a letter she had received on his behalf. That in itself was not very unusual. Minerva was still somewhat inexperienced in her role as the Deputy Headmistress – having held the position only for the last couple of years – and tended to consult him while handling anything remotely unusual or sensitive.

The letter had turned out to be from Fleamont Potter. That was not very unusual either, Dumbledore thought with a grimace. He had exchanged several letters with the Potters over the course of last four years – almost all of them about something or the other their son James had done. James Potter and his friends were probably the worst troublemakers he had ever come across in his long teaching career. Even the Prewett twins were no match for them.

It was the contents of the letter that had piqued his curiosity. Turned out that the Potters had another child – a twin, no less. Apparently, the child had been living abroad – the letter didn't say where – for almost the entirety of his life. It was not unheard of for old pureblood families to keep a child or two hidden in case someone decided to wipe out the entire family. The practice had mostly disappeared in the modern times, but there were several families that still clung to the old ways. The Potters, however, did not fall into that category. By all accounts, they were a family known for their modern beliefs. Henry Potter, Fleamont's father, had once been ridiculed in the Wizengamot for his liberal ideas, after all.

He was not acquainted with the Potters any more than he was with the families of most of the Hogwarts' students. The letter presented an excellent opportunity to rectify that. If even a fraction of the rather disturbing rumours he was hearing about a certain former student were true, an alliance – or even an acquaintance – with the with an old family like the Potters could be useful in the future.

It was standard procedure to assess the abilities of the students seeking direct enrolment in classes beyond the first year. Such cases were not very common, but did come up from time to time. Children showing signs of magic at an older age, children with special abilities, home-schooled children from families not willing or unable to pay the price of taking OWLs directly at the Ministry – they often tended to try and join Hogwarts directly as upperclassmen. Normally, he would send Minerva to talk to the applicant, but this time he decided to use the interview as an excuse to open a dialog with the Potters.

* * *

Harry was pacing nervously in his bedroom. The representative from Hogwarts was supposed to arrive anytime now. He didn't really expect any trouble proving that he was good enough to join Hogwarts as a fifth year. He had even gone over the fourth-year coursework with James to avoid any surprises. Fortunately, the coursework had remained mostly the same over the years. While that would make for an incredibly boring year at school, it would also allow him a lot more time to pursue his real objectives.

The academic aspect of upcoming meeting not the cause of his anxiety. It was the prospect of meeting someone who had died in the battle of Hogwarts. He was nowhere near ready to meet someone like McGonagall, or Flitwick, or even Slughorn – the people who had followed him to their deaths.

' _Some leader I turned out to be,'_ thought Harry morosely.

There was a knock on the door.

"He is here, Harry," Euphemia informed him when he opened the door.

"Who is it?" asked Harry, hoping desperately that it was someone he didn't know.

"Professor Dumbledore, of course!"

Harry was stunned – he had never expected the Headmaster himself to come calling.

' _So much for staying under the radar,'_ sighed Harry. On the bright side, at least he didn't feel guilty about anything to do with the old Headmaster.

"I'll be downstairs in a minute," he told his grandmother when he realised she was waiting for him at the landing.

He used the minute to calm himself down and clear his mind – focusing exclusively on the thoughts he wanted to project. While he didn't expect Dumbledore to use Legilimency overtly, there was always a chance that the old man could glimpse some of his surface thoughts passively. He had finally learnt to Occlude his mind back in his sixth year. Dumbledore himself had taught him when he had argued that it was unsafe for him to learn about Voldemort's secrets without a way to protect them – and that Voldemort's refrain from using Legilimency against him after the Ministry fiasco wasn't guaranteed to last. Despite his other flaws, Dumbledore had turned out to be a wonderful teacher. Instead of criticising him for his failures, he had patiently worked with him till he had succeeded. As a result, by the time he had learnt about the Horcruxes, he had become proficient enough to block an all-out assault from the Headmaster for long enough to expel him out of his mind.

It was a different matter altogether that Occlumency hadn't helped him with Voldemort at all. Apparently, the backdoor that was the Horcrux provided Voldemort with a direct link to his brain, bypassing all protection.

His blood ran cold as a thought occurred to him. While his grandfather knew about Legilimency from his memories and could take precautions, he had no idea how much he had told his grandmother. For all he knew, she was unknowingly revealing all his secrets to Dumbledore. Fortunately, James wasn't home – Fleamont had sent him to run some errands. He almost ran downstairs, barely keeping his panic in check.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that Dumbledore was talking to his grandfather – _father_ – he reminded himself. It wouldn't do to think of anything remotely suspicious in Dumbledore's presence. His grandmother was not in the room.

"Good Morning! You must be Harry," greeted Dumbledore as his noticed Harry's presence for the first time. "I must say, you look remarkably similar to your brother. . ." The De-Ageing Potion had done a marvellous job. Any signs that Harry was older than James were completely gone. If anything, he looked slightly younger.

"Good Morning, Professor Dumbledore," Harry returned the greeting, working overtime to keep his thoughts in check. Looking closely, Dumbledore looked a lot more like the powerful wizard he was than the grandfatherly old man he had portrayed himself as in Harry's time.

"I see you have done your research," remarked Dumbledore amusedly.

"One doesn't need research to recognise a wizard as famous as yourself, Professor," replied Harry, trying to hide his exasperation at Dumbledore's antics. Dumbledore merely chuckled, apparently at ease with his fame.

"Why don't you take a seat, Harry?" beckoned Fleamont, pointing towards the couch opposite to the one Dumbledore was sitting on. "Professor Dumbledore would like to speak to you about your enrolment at Hogwarts."

Harry took the offered seat and asked, as politely as he could, "What would you like to know, Professor?"

"It is standard procedure to assess the abilities of the students wishing to enrol directly in one of the upper years. No one likes to be demoted – or worse, expelled – because they couldn't keep up with the coursework, after all," replied Dumbledore.

Harry nodded – he had suspected as much. Then he asked something that had been bothering him since the moment he had found out that Dumbledore himself had come to talk to him, "Err. . . not to be rude Professor, but is it usual for the Headmaster himself to visit the students for something like this? I mean. . . surely, one of the teachers could've interviewed me. . ."

"Not at all, Mr. Potter! That is a perfectly genuine question!" the Headmaster beamed. "And to answer your question, it is usually the Deputy Headmistress who visits the students – both muggleborns and special cases like yourself. . . But as it happens, Professor McGonagall – the Deputy Headmistress – is rather swamped with the muggleborns. . . And I used to be the Deputy Headmaster not too long ago myself. So I decided to lend her a hand."

Harry found it highly convenient that Dumbledore had decided to visit the Potters out of all the families, but held his tongue. "Alright Professor, where do we begin?"

"Your father tells me you've lived with your grandparents for most of your life in South Africa. . ." Dumbledore looked at him questioningly. He continued when Harry didn't respond, "And that you were home-schooled. . ."

Fleamont and Harry had decided to keep his back story as verifiable as possible. It was a fact that Henry Potter – Fleamont's father – and his wife had moved to South Africa sometime in 1940s – fearing prosecution for his pro-muggle views in case Grindelwald emerged victorious. He had wanted his son to move with him, but Fleamont had refused. Henry had passed away less than a year ago, providing Harry with a convenient reason to _return_ to Britain. To anyone looking closely into Harry's past, the Ministry of Magic records would clearly show multiple International Portkeys issued to the Potters over the course of last three decades. Someone would have to spend a significant amount of time in South Africa looking for clues before they would find anything incriminating – especially since the country did not have an equivalent of the Ministry of Magic. There just wasn't enough magical presence to warrant one. The magical population of South Africa was estimated to be less than a thousand witches and wizards – almost all immigrants from European countries.

"That's right. My grandparents taught me – them and some private tutors," said Harry when he realised that Dumbledore was waiting for an answer.

"And what subjects did you study, Mr. Potter?"

"Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defensive Magic, Herbology, Astronomy and History," replied Harry, not wanting to go into the electives yet.

"Excellent," beamed Dumbledore. "Would you mind transfiguring this tea-cup into a water goblet for me?"

"Err. . . I thought I am not allowed to do magic outside school," Harry said innocently. "James told me so."

"That's quite alright Mr. Potter. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, I grant you permission to perform magic in my presence."

Harry had intended to portray himself as a slightly above average student, but that plan went down the proverbial gutter with the first spell. He performed the spell without thinking, and instead of the plain water goblet he was aiming for, the cup morphed into an ornately designed one. He had no idea how it happened. He had always had to pour a lot of magic to transfigure something so intricate. Hoping to pass it off as a fluke, he tried to hold back while demonstrating the other spells the Headmaster asked for, but was caught almost immediately – Dumbledore was too experienced an educator to be fooled so easily.

"May I ask why you are trying to hold your spells back, Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned red at being caught so easily. "I don't like showing off," he mumbled the first excuse that he could think of.

Dumbledore seemed to buy that. He chuckled, "I see. . . Humility is an admirable trait, Mr. Potter. However, I am afraid I must insist that you stop holding back and show me the full extent of your capabilities. Consider this an examination. . ."

Harry mumbled an apology, having resigned to his fate. He just hoped Dumbledore wouldn't ask anything too advanced.

Fortunately, Dumbledore restricted himself to fourth year curriculum, with some spells and questions from fifth year thrown in. Harry continued to perform the spells almost instinctively, often with spectacular results – spectacular for a student, that is. However, his theoretical knowledge was not as impressive – he was no Hermione, after all. He managed to answer most of the questions well enough to satisfy the Headmaster, though.

"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems like you are qualified for the fifth year as far as the core subjects are concerned. Now, you need to select at least two electives. At Hogwarts, we offer Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. . . But given that you have never studied any of them, I daresay you will need to sign up for remedial classes. Do you have any preferences?"

"I am not interested in fortune-telling or Muggle Studies. And I am not too keen on Care of Magical Creatures either – I prefer to keep my limbs intact, thank you, very much!"

Dumbledore smiled, "I can certainly understand the sentiment about Divination and Magical Creatures. . . I am curious, though, why are you not interested in Muggle Studies? Surely you can see the value in learning about our non-magical counterparts?"

Harry frowned – he knew where this conversation was leading. The Headmaster was subtly trying to probe him for his opinion on muggles. Unfortunately for him, Harry knew him too well to fall for such a trick.

"I already know more than enough to live comfortably among the muggles if I need to," replied Harry, barely concealing his smirk as an idea came to him, "I could take you for an outing into muggle London, if you like. . ." he said, almost challengingly.

"Perhaps I'll take you up on that offer someday," replied Dumbledore, not rising to the bait. "But coming back to the topic at hand, the remaining two are considered incredibly taxing subjects. Are you sure you can catch up with two years' worth of coursework?"

Harry had no desire to join Arithmancy or Ancient Runes classes. As far as he knew, both of them were highly theoretical subjects – dealing with numbers and ancient writing systems respectively. While they were useful for the likes of historians, researchers and curse breakers, none of them were likely to help him with Voldemort. And building his career was the last thing on his mind at the moment. Besides he had never studied those subjects – trying to catch up with two years' worth of course work was likely to take up all his free time. He tried to talk Dumbledore into excusing him from elective classes, but the Headmaster refused.

"While I can understand your situation, it will set a bad precedent to allow a student to circumvent the school rules. I am afraid I cannot allow that. . . However, I believe we can postpone the selection of your electives until the beginning of the school year. Given your performance in the core subjects, I may be able to come up with a solution for you. . ."

Harry knew better than to ask about the solution.

"Now, here are yours and your brother's letters," Dumbledore pulled out a couple of envelopes. "Yours contains a list of books and equipment for all the subjects, but you can hold off on buying anything for the electives for now. . . Allow me to be the first one to congratulate you, Mr. Potter! You are now a Hogwarts student."

"Thank you, Professor!" said Harry sincerely.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, I have a few things to discuss with your father. . ."

Harry looked at his grandfather, who had remained mostly silent throughout the interview, as he got up from the couch.

"James seems to be running late, Harry. Go and see if he needs help with something. . ."

* * *

Fleamont apprised Harry of the contents of his discussion with Dumbledore at dinner. They had mostly talked about the recent unrest in the society – especially among the youngsters. Dumbledore had dropped some not-so-subtle hints about some kind of trouble that was brewing in Magical Britain. Harry knew that the Headmaster at least suspected what Tom Riddle was up to, but was not sure if he was already moving against him. Perhaps he was making overtures to various families in the hopes of luring them into what would eventually become the Order of the Phoenix – if it didn't exist already.

"You think Voldemort is behind all those riots?" asked James, who had been listening quietly so far.

"Not entirely, they would have happened anyway," replied Harry with a sigh. "He is milking the situation for all its worth – adding fuel to the fire, so to speak. . . He's trying to ride the wave of anti-muggleborn sentiments to rise to power. . ."

"What do you mean?" asked a confused James.

"Have you noticed that the number of muggleborns at Hogwarts has increased significantly in the last few years?"

"Umm. . . not really. I mean, sure, there are a lot of them, but that's how it's always been, hasn't it?" asked James, looking between his father and Harry.

"No," replied Fleamont who himself was looking a little lost. "Back when I was at Hogwarts, not more than ten – maybe fifteen percent of the students were muggleborns. . ."

"Exactly! After the end of the Second World War, the muggle population increased rapidly. Millions of babies were born in the 50s and the 60s. Even if the fraction of the babies born with magic remained the same as ever, the total number of muggleborns went up significantly. The first baby boomer muggleborns reached the Hogwarts age around the late 50s. Combine that with the number of magical families that were wiped out in the war against Grindelwald, and the improved methods of detecting accidental magic discovered in 40s, we suddenly have a much larger fraction of muggleborns at Hogwarts. If I remember correctly, at some point, more than seventy percent of the students were muggleborns. . ."

"I don't understand," said James. "Why is it a problem? It's not like Hogwarts refuses anyone admission. . ."

Harry laughed humourlessly. "It's not just about Hogwarts! Don't you see it? As they increased in numbers, the muggleborns started competing with purebloods and half-bloods for jobs and businesses. A lot of young purebloods suddenly found themselves unemployed with dwindling family gold. Naturally, they were not happy. . . Some of the more daring ones staged hit-and-run attacks on businesses owned by or employing muggleborns. . ."

"I think it's more than some hit-and-run attacks," interjected James sceptically.

"That was just the beginning. When the perpetrators were caught, they were usually let off with a slap on the wrist by a pureblood dominated Wizengamot. Predictably, the muggleborns were getting angry. At some point in mid 60s, they started demanding more representation and equal rights. With financial backing from some of the wealthier ones – the ones who had made a fortune by introducing ideas from the muggle world into ours – they actually made significant progress. . . So far, the resentment of muggleborns had mostly been limited to the younger generations of the less affluent families – witches and wizards who didn't have the power to do anything significant. But now, the people with real power – the politicians, the power brokers – they were noticing the rapid changes that were taking place in the society. It didn't help that the Minister for Magic – Nobby Leach – was a muggleborn. . . Oh, and let's not forget the squib rights marches of 1968 which were inspired by the success the muggleborns had achieved. . ."

As he paused for a second to take a sip of water from his goblet, Harry noticed that even his grandparents were listening raptly.

"As I was saying, the people with real power were feeling threatened now. Many of the old and powerful political families who had been at least somewhat supportive of the muggleborns in the past, suddenly turned apathetic and even hostile in some cases – Bones, Fawley, Crouch, Greengrass, Macmillan, Smith, and quite a few others were among them. Abraxas Malfoy and his cohorts used the opportunity to dispose of Leach and tried to replace him with a puppet of their own. . ."

"What do you mean by dispose of? I though he retired because he was ill?" interjected Euphemia.

"He resigned under the Imperius Curse, and disappeared a few months later. . . When an investigation revealed the truth, Minister Jenkins – or was it Minchum? I don't really remember – anyway, the Minister, fearing a rebellion from muggleborns if the truth got out, declared the report classified. Apparently, there was not enough evidence to convict anyone. Malfoy walked away scot-free. . ."

"Between 1969 and 1971, the traditionalists – the conservatives – whatever you want to call them – they introduced several bills favouring the purebloods and restricting the half-bloods, muggleborns, werewolves – basically anyone who was not a pureblood – in the Wizengamot. . . Thankfully, almost none of them passed. . ."

"But why?" asked James. "if everyone was supporting them. . ."

"Dumbledore," offered Fleamont.

"But Dumbledore is one man!" protested James.

"Don't underestimate the political clout of Albus Dumbledore, son. He has a huge following, especially among those who are old enough to remember Grindelwald's reign of terror," replied his father. "And by publicly declining the position of the Minister, he has put himself in an almost unassailable position for years to come. . ."

"And it doesn't hurt that he taught many of the Wizengamot at Hogwarts. . ." added Harry. "Dumbledore's faction – the liberals – not only did they manage to block the discriminatory bills, they actually managed to pass several laws favouring muggleborns – in addition to getting them a few votes on the Wizengamot. All of this happened in such a short span of time that the conservatives panicked – things were changing too quickly for their liking – and they found themselves powerless to do anything. They did not have anyone to counter the might of Dumbledore. And unlike Leach, he is not so easy to get rid of. . ."

"They needed a way to counter Dumbledore," continued Harry, "both politically and magically. So they invited the devil in – literally. Tom Riddle returned to Britain after a decade abroad sometime in late 60s – calling himself Lord Voldemort – claiming to be the last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself – perhaps rightfully so. In many ways, he was the perfect counter for Dumbledore. He was charismatic, skilled, powerful. . . He gave passionate speeches, vowing to restore the old order and to put the muggleborns in their place. . . The traditionalists flocked around him – contributing to his cause in any way they could. Money, information, political power – he got almost anything he asked for. The more fanatical families considered it an honour to have a son or daughter in the ranks of his Death Eaters. . . By the time they realised his true nature, it was far too late – he had grown too powerful. . ."

* * *

Lying down in his bed surrounded by silencing charms – it wouldn't do to wake the others when he inevitably had nightmares – Harry wondered, not for the first time, if he was doing the right thing by going to Hogwarts and not doing more to prevent the rise of Voldemort before it even started.

The real problem was that no matter how much he wanted to, there was almost nothing else he could do until Voldemort decided to come out in the open. Until that happened, he was merely a political revolutionary – he had done nothing that could easily be traced back to him. Any attack on him would be considered politically motivated – and in turn, would help solidify his power base. The Wizarding World at large needed to recognise the threat he and his _ideology_ posed before he could be attacked.

More importantly, Harry knew he was nowhere near ready to face him. He had seen first-hand what the Dark Lord was capable of. He was not delusional enough to believe that a couple of years at Hogwarts would bring him anywhere near Voldemort's level, but he needed the skills to at least hold his ground in a battle against him. And he needed time to search for the Horcruxes. If his information was correct, most of them had not yet been placed at the locations he knew from his time.

The real advantage he held against Voldemort was his extensive knowledge of his strengths and weaknesses – even if he was in no position to exploit them yet. He actually understood the Dark Lord in ways even Dumbledore never did. The Headmaster had always believed that Tom Riddle was just another pureblood supremacist. Harry knew better – he knew that Voldemort was a megalomaniac of the highest order. While he favoured purebloods, the only thing he really cared about was power. He had no qualms about using absolutely any means to seize power. Had the political situation in Britain been different, Harry had no doubt that the Dark Lord would've tried to build an army of muggleborns. In a sense, it was fortunate that such a thing had not come to pass. The implications of someone with the moral compass of Voldemort wielding magic along with modern technology were too horrible to consider.

And somehow, that was exactly what had happened in the future. According to the information Bellatrix had given him, Voldemort had apparently learnt the _wonders_ of technology – especially sophisticated weaponry – and was well on his way to seize control of Britain's considerable nuclear arsenal. Based on his experience with magical Britain, he had realized it would take far too long to conquer the rest of the world using magic alone. Bellatrix was one of the very few Death Eaters he had trusted with his plans – the actual work was being done by muggleborns and half-bloods under the Imperius Curse. She hadn't understood the full implications, of course – not until the argument with Harry about the World Wars. Voldemort, knowingly or unknowingly, was pushing the world towards an all-out Nuclear War – the Third World War – which Harry suspected would wipe out humans – both magical and non-magical – from the face of the Planet. Apparently, the revelation of what had happened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki – and of the fact that Britain was not the only country with a stockpile of such weapons – had scared Bellatrix enough to betray her precious Lord. And the realisation of how close Voldemort was to world destruction – and of his own powerlessness to stop him – had convinced Harry that he had no choice but to make the jump.

He wondered if it might be better to go to Dumbledore – to pass on the burden. Despite his failings, the Headmaster had always been against the likes of Voldemort. But he couldn't bring himself to trust the old man the way he had once done – not after his betrayal. There was too much at stake for Harry to let him fool around with his convoluted schemes. And there always a chance that he would try to redeem his old student – Harry did not know what had eventually convinced Dumbledore that Voldemort was beyond redemption – if he had ever been truly convinced. He knew he'd eventually have to pass the pertinent information, but he'd be damned if he followed the old man ever again. No, he was going to fight the war on his own terms.

* * *

Life at Godric's Hollow settled in a comfortable rhythm for Harry. Slowly, but surely, he was getting used to thinking of his grandparents' house as home – and his grandparents as his parents. Both Fleamont and Euphemia had reminded him the multiple times that it was not a good idea for him to continue thinking of them as his grandparents – he was bound to slip up at some point.

"The Harry Potter who was our grandson doesn't exist anymore. In this time, you are our son – James' twin. Your children will be our grandchildren – or do you plan on telling them about your adventures through time?" Fleamont had asked.

Harry had blushed at the thought of having children, but had not said anything – he wasn't optimistic enough to believe that he'd live long enough to have children.

The Potters did remember his birthday, though. They ended up surprising him with a private celebration. They couldn't do anything more – now that his official birthday was same as James'. Unfortunately, the celebration ended up depressing him as he remembered his last birthday at the Burrow. The memory of his friends was still too painful.

"Wait, we never decided who is the older twin!" exclaimed James, trying to lighten up the mood. He had correctly interpreted Harry's less than happy demeanour.

Harry rolled his eyes at his father's – _brother's_ – antics, but was grateful for the distraction. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it does! Someone is bound to bring it up!"

"Well, you can be the younger one – given that I am actually older than you," replied Harry, giving into the banter.

"That's not fair," James mock pouted. "I am your father! How can I be younger than you?"

As they argued about their relative ages, Harry couldn't help but grin as he remembered the antics of Weasley twins. James had an almost identical grin on his face as he realised that his mission had been accomplished.

* * *

As July rolled into August, Harry wondered why he hadn't seen the other Marauders yet – not that he was looking forward to meeting Pettigrew. Sirius had once told him that he used to visit the Potters often during the holidays. James informed him that he was grounded for the summer – his mother thought he needed to be taught a lesson for associating with the wrong sort. Harry could certainly believe that – he remembered Walburga Black's portrait too vividly not to.

Remus and Pettigrew apparently didn't visit very frequently.

The second week of August was drawing to a close, and the Potters could no longer put off the visit to the Diagon Alley. James had been stalling so far – hoping to meet his friends in the Alley. But Sirius had finally informed him – Harry presumed via the communication mirrors – that his mother had refused to let him go and had instead paid to have everything home-delivered. She had even paid a seamstress to make a house call.

In the interest of preserving his anonymity for a little longer, Harry had decided to travel separately from the rest of the Potters. He was once again under a Glamour Charm and his attire was similar to the one from the day he had first met his grandparents. He watched from afar as James met Remus and Pettigrew – resisting the urge to curse the latter into smithereens.

Having delegated most of his shopping to James, Harry tore his eyes from Pettigrew, and stepped into one of the establishments he needed to visit in person – Gringotts. After a long discussion with Fleamont, he had come to the conclusion that it was not a good idea to carry all the gold he had brought from the future on his person – nor was it safe to leave it at Godric's Hollow. In addition to the gold, he had more than a few items which could potentially expose his status as a Time Traveller. While he was wary of the goblins, he couldn't think of a safer place to hide something. Fortunately, unlike their muggle counterparts, goblins didn't stamp their coins with a serial number or the year of minting – he'd have faced some really awkward questions otherwise.

"I'd like to rent a new vault," proclaimed Harry. The bank was not very crowded – he had found a free teller almost immediately.

"Go to the vaults desk down the hall," replied the Goblin in a bored voice.

The vaults desk was manned by an elderly looking goblin. He offered Harry a seat.

"I assume you want a new vault?" asked the Goblin. Harry nodded in response.

"What kind of a vault do you want? We offer. . ."

"A maximum-security vault," replied Harry, cutting the Goblin off. He had already discussed his options with his grandfather. "It should open only to me and my blood relatives unless otherwise instructed. And I don't want anyone – including Gringotts employees – getting into it without my permission."

The Goblin raised his eyebrows. "Such a vault will be very expensive. Are you sure that is what you want? I can assure you that our other vaults are not insecure. . ."

"I am sure," replied Harry.

"All right then. You will need to pay 500 Galleons as the vault provisioning fee. That will allow you to use the vault for two years. The annual rent after that will be 25 Galleons. Since we can't collect the rent from the vault ourselves, you'll need to pay for the duration of the contract in advance. The vault will be sealed with your blood for as long as the contract is valid. Should you fail to renew the contract before it expires, the seal will break and Gringotts goblins will be able to enter vault to collect the rent – or de-provision the vault if it doesn't have enough gold to pay for its upkeep. Do you understand?"

"I do," replied Harry, pulling out his money pouch. "I want a contract for fifty years." He deposited the required number of coins at the desk. He knew he was paying a rather large sum, but one of the reasons he wanted such a vault was that he didn't want goblins – or the Ministry – looking into his possessions from the future – even if he died or was incarcerated. It was added bonus that the vault would be afforded every possible protection the goblins could provide – and that its existence would remain a secret.

"Very well, once you sign the contract, I'll have the vault provisioned within the hour," replied the Goblin, pushing a scroll of parchment towards Harry. "A copy of the contract will be placed in your vault."

Harry read the contract very carefully – going over the fine print multiple times to ensure that he didn't miss a loophole. It was the standard contract used for such vaults, but he didn't trust the goblins enough to not expect them to try and slip in a loophole or two.

Finally satisfied, he filled in the blanks with his name and other required details and signed at the dotted line using a Blood Quill. If the Goblin was surprised to learn his name, he didn't show it. He called another goblin and barked some instructions in Gobbledegook.

"Marius is going to prepare your vault. You can either wait or come back after an hour."

"Thank you, Master. . . err. . ." Harry stammered, not knowing the Goblin's name.

"Silverblade," supplied the Goblin.

"Thank you, Master Silverblade. I think I'll come back later," replied Harry.

Sliverblade nodded. "A bit of advice, Mr. Potter," he said as Harry got up from his chair, "It is time-consuming to go down to those vaults – and their very nature prevents you from writing Gringotts drafts against them. I'd recommend keeping at least a part of your gold in a regular vault."

Harry knew it was sound advice, but the goblins were not known for their generosity towards humans. "How much does a regular vault cost?"

"Forty Galleons for provisioning the vault. The annual rent is three Galleons. Rent for the first two years is included in the provisioning fee."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Given that I am already renting the most expensive vault you have to offer – and that you'll make money on every draft I write, shouldn't I be eligible for some kind of discount?"

* * *

As he stepped into the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry considered his day to be a success. He had eventually managed to convince Sliverblade to let him have a regular vault for a provisioning fee of five Galleons and a nominal rent of two sickles a year for as long as the contract for the main vault was active. In return, he was required to maintain an average quarterly balance of at least a thousand galleons. He had gladly deposited two thousand as the starting amount.

After Gringotts, the only remaining place Harry had needed to visit in person was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The shop, which had turned out to be smaller than what he remembered from the future, had been full of Hogwarts students – James and his friends amongst them. Thankfully, it had been Malfoy-free this time. He had almost resigned himself to a long wait when a younger Madam Malkin had pulled him aside to be fitted separately from the Hogwarts crowd. Based on his attire, she had not expected him to be a Hogwarts student. Fortunately, she had not sent him back to the regular queue when she had realised her mistake.

* * *

As September the First drew nearer, Harry finally broached the topic of Occlumency. He had wanted to talk about it earlier, but somehow the conversation had always turned towards something else. He knew that his grandparents were not likely to come in contact with many people skilled in Legilimency. But James was going to be at Hogwarts. Harry couldn't afford the Headmaster or anyone else scanning his surface thoughts. Turned out, Fleamont was ahead of him.

"Occlumency, from what I understand, is a rather obscure and time-consuming branch of magic. It will take us months to learn – maybe even more, since we don't have Dumbledore teaching us. There are other ways to hide information. . . Of course, they have their own limitations and are nowhere near as versatile as Occlumency. . ."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I've been looking into ways to protect your secret for a while now. And I found the answer in your own memories," replied Fleamont. "The Fidelius Charm," he added at Harry's questioning look. "Most other spells are designed to hide certain memories, but they don't prevent anyone from looking at other memories and drawing their own conclusions. Fidelius, on the other hand, hides the secret itself, along with anything that could potentially lead to it. . ."

Harry was a bit sceptical. While the Fidelius Charm was designed to protect secrets, it had always led to disaster in his experience. But he eventually agreed when Fleamont pointed out that no magic was impossible to circumvent – including Occlumency - and that it was a matter of knowing the strengths and weaknesses of the magic being employed beforehand.

So he ended up spending the remaining days at Godric's Hollow learning all he could about the Charm - not that there was a lot of information on it in the family library. Apart from the spell itself, about the only relevant thing he had found out was that the complexity of the spell and the power required increased exponentially with the number of people who already knew the secret and their distance from the caster. He intended to find out more about it at Hogwarts.

* * *

On September 1, Harry found himself levitating his brand-new trunk through the corridors of the Hogwarts Express. He had hoped to acquire one similar to Moody's, but to his disappointment, he had been unable to find anyone who sold them in the Diagon Alley. Moody's was either custom made, or he had bought it elsewhere. Harry had to settle for an ordinary Hogwarts trunk. He had placed an Undetectable Extension Charm on it though, making a lot more spacious on the inside than it appeared from outside. On the flip side, the Undetectable Extension Charm also left it unshrinkable. He knew it was possible to combine the two charms, but he hadn't quite figured out the specifics yet.

The Potters had arrived at the King's Cross at half-past ten in the morning. They had Floo'ed directly to the Platform Nine and Three Quarters – making Harry wonder why the Weasleys had always insisted on entering via the muggle side of the station. Not wanting to make a scene at the Platform, he had hastily said his goodbyes and slipped into one of the carriages while Euphemia was still fussing over James.

He had performed the Fidelius Charm the day before. It was easily the most complicated spell he had ever performed - it had taken him a fortnight of dedicated practise to learn – he had done almost nothing else during the last two weeks. He now understood why Flitwick had once described it as _an immensely complex spell_.

He was broken out of his musing by a shout.

"Over here, James," called a grinning Sirius Black. "This compartment is empty."

Harry grinned as an idea popped into his head. "Coming up!" he replied, surreptitiously applying a Glamour on his eyes. He remembered that James wanted to play a prank on his friends while introducing him, but hadn't been able to think of a suitable one.

"Hello Sirius, Peter!" He greeted, sliding his trunk into the luggage rack. "Where is Remus?" He had spent hours taming his emotions for this meeting. It wouldn't do to break down at the sight of Sirius or Remus – or curse Peter into oblivion, for that matter – especially since he hadn't even told James about the betrayal yet.

"He went to the prefect's carriage," replied Peter. Harry noticed that Sirius was looking at him oddly. Before he could say anything though, the compartment door slid open and James stepped in. Sirius and Peter looked at the two of them in shock. It was Sirius who recovered first.

"Which one of you is James," he asked, pulling out his wand.

"I am," replied Harry and James, almost simultaneously.

"Creepy," muttered Pettigrew.

"Oi, I thought I was going to be James today?" said Harry, faking indignation. He had seen the Weasley Twins doing it multiple times.

"Nope, you get to be James on Tuesdays and Thursdays," replied James, faking exasperation – he seemed to have caught on to what was going on. "Seriously, how difficult is it to remember? They both start with a T."

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Sirius almost shouted, pointing his wands between the Potters. Pettigrew had pulled out his wand, but it was pointing towards the floor. He looked terrified.

Harry nearly doubled over laughing at the look on Sirius' face.

"Meet my evil twin, Harry!" James introduced him with a grin.

"Twin? You never had a twin before," remarked Sirius, still looking suspicious.

"Well, he was living with our grandfather. . ." Harry tuned James out in favour of looking out of the window. The train was slowly pulling out of the station. His grandparents were nowhere to be seen – they had probably already left. He couldn't help but feel nostalgic as he remembered the last time he had left King's Cross on Hogwarts Express at the beginning of his sixth year. This was the first time he was travelling to Hogwarts without Ron and Hermione.

His attention was drawn by Sirius' exclamation.

"Wicked! I bet old Snivellus goes nuts when he finds out about another Potter!"

Harry groaned inwardly. He had decided to give Snape a fair chance – the same way he was doing for Pettigrew. But it was going to be difficult while hanging around the Marauders. He realised that Sirius was addressing him directly.

"That was a brilliant prank, Harry! Simple and effective! And to think that you made it up on the spot! Don't think I won't get you back, though," said Sirius, grinning. "I'm Sirius Black, by the way," he offered his hand, which Harry shook, "and the lump over there is Peter Pettigrew, but I guess you already know that. . ."

Harry nodded towards Pettigrew neutrally, who seemed to have come out of his terrified shell.

"I still can't believe you never told me," whined Sirius.

"I already told you it was a _family secret_ ," replied James exasperatedly. "You know how it works. . ."

Harry mostly tuned them out as they chatted about anything and everything from homework to Quidditch, from girls to pranks – nodding and agreeing whenever he felt was appropriate. Perhaps because he was older than them, he found most of their conversation extremely childish.

Remus returned about an hour later, which led to another round of rather lengthy introduction – much to Harry's chagrin. He sincerely hoped this was the last time he had to sit through the explanation. Listening to his own background – even the fake one – was getting old very quickly. Thankfully, the conversation soon turned to the topic of prefects.

"Well, Evans is the other Gryffindor prefect," said Remus.

"Obviously," remarked Sirius, rolling his eyes.

"Taylor and Russell from Ravenclaw."

Harry didn't recognise either of the names.

"Bones and Butler from Hufflepuff."

He wondered if Bones was Amelia Bones.

"Black and Greengrass from Slytherin."

He wondered who the other Black was. Could it be Narcissa? She might be the correct age – given her son had been the same age as him. Or maybe it was another Black he didn't know – the family was certainly big enough. Before he could ask, Remus dropped a bombshell.

"The head boy is Cornelius Fudge. . ."

"That pompous buffoon from Ravenclaw?" asked Sirius, looking disbelieving. Remus nodded.

Harry was shocked. He had never known that Fudge had been the Head Boy back in the day – or that he had been a Ravenclaw, for that matter. It made sense in twisted sort of way, though – Percy Weasley had shown almost every sign of being another Fudge in making. Harry realised Remus wasn't done speaking yet.

"And the Head Girl is," he paused for the dramatic effect, "Dolores Umbridge. . ."

Harry's mouth fell wide open in horror. How the hell had that happened? Had the duo been head students back in his original timeline? Or had he already messed things up? He forced himself to calm down when he realised that no-one was reacting to the news as strongly as he was. Other than the usual insults meant for Slytherins, no one said much. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find out that the Evil Toad from Hell had been a Slytherin during her school days – she was the personification of ambitious and cunning, after all.

The general chatter resumed as the Marauders talked about anything that caught their fancy. Already bored out of his mind, Harry decided to take a walk down the corridor – hoping to clear his mind.

That turned out to be a bad idea. He had barely stepped into the next carriage when he heard the sounds of mocking and jeering coming out of one of the compartments. The sounds were muffled, but there was no mistaking it – someone was almost certainly being bullied.

Harry pulled out his wand – the Ollivander one – and flicked it, unlocking the compartment. The voices suddenly became crystal clear.

" _. . .princess. . ."_

" _. . .sister is not here. . ."_

" _. . .think you're better than us. . ."_

He had interpreted the situation correctly. There were four older students – three Gryffindors – two boys and a girl – and a lone Ravenclaw girl. They had their wands out and were taunting a little blond girl who had curled up in a ball – she looked young enough to be a second year.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" he interjected angrily.

The older students finally took notice of him.

"What is it to you, Potter?" sneered the Gryffindor girl – she was probably a fifth or a sixth year. "Can't you see we are getting acquainted with the little princess here."

"Get out! Get out of here before I do something I'll regret," said Harry, in a deadly, almost hissing voice. If there was one thing he could not tolerate – it was bullying.

"You're not a prefect, Potter," said the burly Gryffindor – clearly a sixth or seventh year. "In fact, why don't you join us in the fun? Merlin knows you get into enough fights with the Snakes. . ."

"This is your last warning," hissed Harry, wanting to avoid a fight if he could.

"Are you blind, Potter? In case you didn't notice, there are four of us – all older than you," said the Gryffindor girl.

"Why are we even talking to him? He is one of them, isn't he?" asked the third Gryffindor. He had an athletic build and Harry could tell he was the most powerful of the four, magically speaking.

Harry didn't get a chance to ponder what 'one of them' meant. The older students raised their wands in unison. . .

" _Stupefy!"_

" _Incarcerous!"_

" _Diffindo!"_

" _Levicorpus!"_

Harry was already moving by the time the first spell had left the wand. A flick of his wand conjured a pearly white shield that absorbed all the spells. It was an advanced shield designed for situations where deflected spells were not desirable. Naturally, it was much harder to cast and maintain than the regular shield.

Harry dispelled the shield and managed to stun and bind the attackers, before they could recover long enough to go for a second volley. He may be no match for Voldemort, but he wasn't going to be beaten by a bunch of teenagers.

He realised that the little girl was looking at him with wide eyes.

"What is going on here?" spoke an angry female voice behind him.

Harry turned around and found himself face to face with an irate Lily Evans.

"Potter! Should've known it was you. . ."

"Look, there has been a misunderstanding. . ." he tried to say.

"Misunderstanding? You call this a misunderstanding? I am reporting this to Professor McGonagall as soon as we get to school. . ."

"It wasn't him," said a timid voice from behind him. The little girl had finally found her voice.

"Why don't you tell me what happened here, Miss Black?" asked Lily, still looking disbelieving.

"I – I was looking for my sister. . ." started the girl, but Harry wasn't listening anymore. His mind was racing. Now that he knew her last name, it was evident he was looking at a very young Narcissa. The resemblance was certainly there, even though it was hidden under a layer of baby fat.

He had ended up saving Draco's mother from a bunch of bullies. Fate definitely had a twisted sense of irony.

But what did she mean by her sister? Was it Andromeda? Tonks was at least seven or eight years older than him - meaning she was born in 1972 or 73. So Andromeda was clearly out of Hogwarts by now. Could she be a teacher? Seemed unlikely for a mother with a baby less than three years old – especially for a mother with a hyperactive metamorphmagus baby like Tonks. Unless there was a fourth Black sister he didn't know about, that left –

" _Bloody fucking hell!"_

* * *

 **Story Recommendation**

Basilisk-born by Ebenbild. It is a fantastic story that seems to have been vastly under-appreciated. It's a unique take on the concept of time travel.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

Thank you for reading.

– I'll be taking some liberties with the ages of certain canon characters. It is necessary to make the story work without creating a lot of OCs.

– If you are expecting a response to your review, please sign in before writing it. While I don't have anything against anonymous reviews, I hate the idea of responding to reviews in the chapter. Doing so artificially inflates the word count, and the other readers have no clue what the author is talking about.

– And lastly, a few words about what you think of the chapter will be appreciated. A follow or favourite tells me you don't dislike the story, but it gives me no clue about your thoughts on the individual chapters.

Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome!

* * *

 **Published: May 30, 2017**


	4. There and Back Again

**There and Back Again**

* * *

 **Disclaimer**

Harry Potter and associated content are the property of their respective owners – I am definitely not one of them.

* * *

Lily Evans was not having a good day. Scratch that — she was having a horrible day. The day hadn't started that way, of course. In fact, her morning had passed in a blur of excitement — excitement at the thought of going back to Hogwarts, excitement at the thought of seeing her friends after almost three months. Bur her sister, Petunia, just _had_ to ruin her day. Her tantrum at the last moment had ensured that her mother had, once again, been unable to see her off to Hogwarts.

Being the younger child, Lily had always been doted on by the family — including Petunia. But that had changed when Lily had received an invitation to join Hogwarts, while Petunia had not. Petunia had become increasingly jealous of her over the years — to the point where she would do anything she could to hurt her. Lily always felt guilty every time she saw her sister like that — she felt it was her fault somehow. She tried her best to reconcile with her sister every time she went home for the holidays, but everything she did had the opposite effect.

Once on the Hogwarts Express, her mood had improved somewhat. But then she had attended the prefects meeting. Some of the other prefects had not been happy to see three new Muggle-borns amongst their numbers. While they couldn't say anything directly, the target of their veiled insults had been clear to anyone with half a brain. Lily didn't know what was worse — that even some of the half-bloods had joined in — or that the Head Boy had barely made a half-hearted attempt to stop it. The Head Girl hadn't said a single word in their defence. If the expression on her face was anything to go by, she had been itching to throw in a few comments of her own.

To add insult to the injury, the student heads had come up with a patrolling schedule for the day that consisted almost exclusively of the Muggle-borns, which meant she would have to spend the rest of her day patrolling the corridors of the Express — not getting more than a few moments with her friends. She had tried to protest the blatant display of prejudice, but the Head Girl had refused to alter the schedule.

 _"_ _If you don't think you are up to the task, Miss Evans, perhaps you should hand your badge in,"_ she had said, in a sickly sweet voice. _"I'm sure we can find someone more_ suitable _for the job."_

Remus Lupin had offered to patrol the corridors on her behalf for some time, but Lily had refused. Getting the prefect badge had been like a dream come true for her. She didn't want anyone to question her capability to do the job. More importantly, she didn't want to show weakness.

The day was getting progressively worse. She had already had to break up at least four fights when she found a boy casting spells at someone in one of the compartments. Granted, she was impressed by the speed of spell casting, but she couldn't allow him to get away with hexing other students. Her temper, which had already been tested multiple times, boiled over when she saw four students stunned and bound and a fifth one cowering before the boy. She pulled out her wand.

"What is going on here?" she almost shouted.

The boy turned around, and she realised it was none other than James Potter — arsehole extraordinaire. That didn't do anything to help her temper.

"Potter! Should've known it was you. . ." she ground out, trying and failing miserably to control her anger.

"Look, there has been a misunderstanding —"

"Misunderstanding? You call this a misunderstanding? I am reporting this to Professor McGonagall as soon as we get to school. . ." Had she not been so angry, she would have realised that Potter was not being his usual annoying self.

"It wasn't him," said the little girl who had been cowering earlier. Lily finally realised the identity of the girl — it was Narcissa Black — a third year Slytherin. Normally, no one messed with her because of her sister's reputation. But James Potter was clearly too arrogant to bother with such details. As amusing as it would be to let the older Black sister deal with him, she was a prefect herself and it was her job to handle such cases.

"Why don't you tell me what happened here, Miss Black?" asked Lily. She found it unlikely that Potter had nothing to with the mess. She had seen him casting spells with her own eyes.

"I – I was looking for my sister. I had saved a compartment for us. She said she'd come find me after the prefects' meeting," started Narcissa. Lily remembered Umbridge asking some prefects to stay behind – perhaps Black was one of them. She listened as Narcissa described how she had been put under the Full Body Bind Curse and dragged into the compartment by the students who were now stunned and bound. She was describing how Potter had taken down the four of them without breaking a sweat when a voice startled them.

"Bloody fucking hell!" swore Potter.

"Mind your language —" she tried to berate him, but a look at his face stopped her short. He had turned pale and his eyes were unfocused.

"What's the matter, Potter? You look like you've seen a ghost. . ." She knew the expression meant nothing in the Wizarding World where seeing ghosts was a common occurrence, but she didn't know the wizarding equivalent yet.

"Potter! Can you hear me, Potter?" She poked him in the arm when the boy didn't show any signs of having heard her. That seemed to break him out of his funk.

"Huh! Wha. . ."

"You zoned out for a bit. What happened?"

"Never you mind! I assume you can handle them?" he asked pointing towards the stunned students. At Lily's nod, he continued, "We should probably take her to one of the Slytherin prefects. . . Who are the new Slytherin prefects, again?" he asked, almost casually.

"Her sister is one of them, but she is still in the prefects' carriage, I think," replied Lily.

"Her sister?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. There was something fishy going on. How could Potter not know the Black sisters? And he was behaving completely _un-Potterlike_. Knowing him, it was either one of his pranks, or another scheme to get into her pants.

"What are you playing at, Potter?" she growled.

The boy looked confused for a second. "I am sorry, but I think you are mistaking me for my brother, James," he said, waving his wand at his face, which caused his nose to become slightly smaller, and his eyes to change colour to emerald green — the exact same colour as her own. "I am Harry Potter, James' twin. . ."

 _SMACK!_

Lily finally lost control and slapped him — pouring all her anger — all her frustration into it. She couldn't believe the nerve of the boy! Did he consider her so naïve that she'd fall for such a lame trick?

The result: A near perfect print of her hand on his right cheek.

"You are such an arsehole, Potter! You make me sick!" she spat with as much venom as she could muster before storming off.

* * *

Harry was stunned. He was staring at the retreating form of his mother — his right hand on his cheek, his ears ringing. In the hindsight, it was probably not the best idea to undo the Glamour, especially since his eyes looked identical to hers. But in his defence, he had been taken off balance by the revelation that Bellatrix was not only at Hogwarts, but she was in the same year as him. A part of him was still hoping that it was all a misunderstanding and there was another Black he didn't know about. That's what he had tried to confirm by asking about Narcissa's sister.

He realised the Narcissa was still staring at him with her big blue eyes.

"Err. . . Miss Black. . . Didn't you say you had a compartment?"

"Yes," she replied shyly.

"Why don't we wait for your sister there?" asked Harry. While he was not too keen on meeting Bellatrix anytime soon, he wasn't dreading it either — at least not like Pettigrew. Strangely enough, once the shock of the revelation that she was at Hogwarts had worn off, he had realised that the idea of meeting her was not as repulsive as he would've expected it to be. Perhaps being stuck with her at Grimmauld Place for weeks had dulled the hatred he had once felt for her, or perhaps it was because she had willingly sacrificed her life to give him the chance to make things right. And he _had_ made a promise not to judge people by their actions in the future. In any case, he didn't want to go to the Marauders' compartment with a hand-print on his cheek.

Harry had always believed that Bellatrix and Andromeda were both at least a few years older than Sirius. For some reason, he had even believed that Bellatrix was the eldest of the Black sisters. But looking back, he couldn't remember the reason behind the belief. His assumption was probably based on their appearance. Bellatrix had always looked a lot older than Sirius and Narcissa. But that could easily be explained as a consequence of prolonged exposure to the Dark Arts and the Dementors.

"Are you really Potter's twin?" Narcissa asked as she guided him towards her compartment at the end of the train.

Harry nodded, "I am."

"I am Narcissa Black," she introduced herself as they reached the compartment. "Thanks for helping me out there."

"No problem at all! I just did what I felt was the right thing, Narcissa," replied Harry.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose, "Only my grandfather calls me Narcissa. Call me Cissy, everyone does!"

Harry chuckled as a memory of Tonks getting mad at being called by her first name came to his mind.

"Well Cissy, why didn't you sit with your friends?"

"I've always travelled with Bella," replied Narcissa.

Narcissa turned out to be quite the chatterbox. She was very different from the cold and calculating Narcissa Malfoy he knew from the future. Harry idly wondered what could possibly have caused such a drastic change in personality.

They had been chatting about random things for about an hour when the compartment door finally slid open.

Harry looked up to see an olive-skinned girl with lustrous waist-length black hair. She was tall and had an athletic build. Her most striking feature, however, was her eyes which were an interesting shade of violet. Overall, she was rather attractive, and had he been a normal fifteen year old — or even a normal eighteen year old, he would have likely have found himself drooling after her.

There was no mistaking her — it _was_ Bellatrix. But unlike the last time he had seen her, those violet eyes were full of life. It was the look on her face that gave him pause, though. She was looking extremely irritated, angry even.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

It was Narcissa who replied, "Bella," she cried, "I was looking for you. . ." Bellatrix's features softened as Narcissa recounted the attack and Harry's timely intervention.

"You should've seen it Bella! The shield absorbed all the spells — and Harry took them down before they could cast another curse!" Narcissa gushed on.

"Harry?" asked Bellatrix, raising an eyebrow. "I thought your name was James?"

"That's my twin brother. I am Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself.

"Is that another one of your pranks, Potter?" asked Bellatrix, getting irritated again.

"Why does everyone think that?" asked Harry with a scowl. Narcissa giggled.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows further.

"Evans thought so too," replied Narcissa. "He got slapped for it."

There was an awkward silence as Bellatrix still looked sceptical.

"I guess I'll just go," said Harry as he stepped out of the door without looking back.

"Why did you have to chase him away?" he heard the irritated voice of Narcissa as he walked away from the compartment.

* * *

As Harry stepped out of the Thestral driven stagecoach and looked at the ancient castle with its many turrets and towers, he was almost overwhelmed by the memory of the last time he had seen it. He almost broke down as he remembered the broken bodies of his friends. Neville had made his last stand at the bottom of the steps leading to the Entrance Hall. Hermione had been killed just outside the giant doors. They were the first ones to run out of the Castle when Voldemort had announced his capture. Both of them had died right before his eyes — trying to fight their way through Voldemort's Army — presumably to try and release him from his bindings. The Death Eaters had piled up the bodies of those they had butchered not too far from where he was standing.

It took all his willpower — and a subtle poke from James, who was walking right beside him — to not break down right there.

"What's wrong with you?" whispered James, not wanting to draw attention.

Harry shook his head and mouthed, "Later!" He had told James about the battle only in the vaguest of terms — not having a reason to burden the teenager with the full extent of the atrocities he had witnessed.

He was halted by very familiar voice calling his name.

"Harry Potter!" It was a younger, but no less intimidating, McGonagall. "Follow me, please. Move along, the rest of you," she added, looking at the Marauders.

Harry followed her into a small chamber off the Entrance Hall. The room was bare except for a couple of chairs and a table between them. McGonagall motioned for him to take a seat on one of the chairs while taking the other one for herself.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seat in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into one of the houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he remembered the first time he had heard the speech.

"When your name is called, step through that door," she pointed towards the door opposite to the one they had entered through, "and walk straight up to the High Table. Is that clear?"

"Professor, can't I be sorted _here_?" asked Harry. He was not looking forward to being stared and pointed at.

McGonagall gave him a stern look, "The sorting also serves as a way to introduce you to the rest of the school, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid it must take place in the Great Hall." With those words, she got up and stepped towards the door leading to the Great Hall. "I almost forgot, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you after the banquet."

Harry didn't have to wait long before he heard McGonagall announce his name. From what he could tell, they had decided to sort him before the first-years came in.

"Mr. Potter if you'll join us please," she called him out.

Walking between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, Harry could clearly hear the whisperings and mutterings.

 _"—_ _she say Potter —"_

 _"—_ _one wasn't enough —"_

 _"—_ _just what we needed —"_

 _"—_ _where were they hiding him —"_

Paying no attention to them, he walked directly up to McGonagall who placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Another Potter, eh? Interesting. . . a time-traveller, huh? Never met one of those before. . ."

Had Harry not known that the Hat wouldn't remember anything after it was taken off his head, he'd have panicked at the thought of it breaching his defences so easily. He made a mental note to figure out how it worked.

"Don't tell me I'll do well in Slytherin," replied Harry. While he was no longer as prejudiced as he had once been against the Slytherins, he didn't want to spend every moment watching his back.

"Oh no, Mr. Potter. You seem to have lost almost all your Slytherin traits since the last time you put me on — or perhaps you have allowed your other traits to dominate them completely," replied the Hat.

"What do you mean?"

"Last time you had an ambition — a burning desire to prove yourself. And while you were never truly cunning, you tended to use that brain of yours far more effectively than you do now. In your desire to fit in, you ended up discarding some of your greatest assets on the way," the Hat whispered into his mind.

"I don't understand —" protested Harry.

"I'm sure you will — you just need to introspect. Now, coming back to the Sorting, I don't really see you doing well in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. That leaves Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. . ."

"Gryffindor, please," replied Harry.

"Are you sure? I suppose courage _is_ your predominant trait now, and the ones you were truly loyal to are now gone. . . Better be GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted the last word for the rest of the hall to hear.

The Gryffindor table burst into applause. He could easily spot the Marauders cheering the loudest. A few spots down the table, he spotted Lily. She was looking horrified. Not wanting to deal with her immediately, Harry walked over to where the Marauders were sitting. Sirius scooted over to make some space. Harry was immediately bombarded with congratulations.

"Congrats Harry, welcome to Gryffindor!" Sirius thumped him on the back. James was beaming with what looked suspiciously like pride on his face.

The other Gryffindors within hearing range followed suit. Harry suspected they were all bursting to ask him about his past, but before someone could broach the topic, Professor Flitwick walked in with the first years following him.

Harry's eyes widened as he noticed the long line of first-years. While he had always known that there were a lot more students at Hogwarts in 60s and 70s than there were in 90s, he had never really thought about it. Looking around, he could see that the Great Hall was more crowded than it had ever been in his time — and there were at least a hundred children following Flitwick. He had never seen more than fifty students being sorted in his time.

Predictably, the Sorting took forever. Harry had tuned it out in favour of observing the occupants of the Great Hall. It was not like he was looking forward to seeing someone getting sorted. At the High Table, he could recognise Sprout and Slughorn in addition to McGonagall and Dumbledore. He couldn't recognise any of the other teachers. Harry had been hoping to see Hagrid, but the gentle half-giant was not there.

He was brought out of his musings when he heard a familiar name being called.

"Lockhart, Gilderoy!"

Lockhart strutted over to McGonagall who was holding the Sorting Hat — Harry was forcibly reminded of a eleven year old Draco Malfoy. The Sorting Hat took forever with the future fraud before finally sorting him in Ravenclaw. Harry was surprised — the Lockhart he had once known wasn't exactly known for his academic excellence.

By the time the Sorting was over, Harry was ready to eat a Hippogriff. He hadn't eaten anything other than a couple of Chocolate Frogs since breakfast. The feast was as magnificent as ever — the House Elves in the kitchens had clearly outdone themselves.

Towards the end of the feast when everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remnants of the main course vanished, only to be replaced by mountains of desserts. Harry was pulling a plate of Treacle Tart towards himself when Nearly Headless Nick, the resident ghost of the Gryffindor house, drifted over to introduce himself. As Harry had expected, the Ghost tried to probe him for his background with every bit of subtlety he could muster. Harry knew he was going to be interrogated by his house-mates multiple times over the coming days. Here was his opportunity to get out of most of it. He knew that anything he told Nick was likely to be known by the rest of the house within hours, so he told him as much as he was willing to give away of his fictitious background to the general student populace. The entire Gryffindor House would know by the morning that he had lived abroad with his _grandparents_ , and that he had returned because of his _grandfather's_ demise, but nothing more.

Nick's attempts to probe further were halted by the desserts vanishing and Dumbledore rising for the start-of-term speech.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Marauders.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the third week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact their Head of House."

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of the staff this year. Professor Meadowes" — a middle aged witch sitting at the far end of the table stood up — "is a former Unspeakable who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor."

Harry remembered her from the photo Moody had shown him at Grimmauld Place. Dorcas Meadowes — Voldemort had killed her personally.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors, and that certain items that can be used to cause mayhem are banned at Hogwarts. A list of such items can be found on the notice boards in your common rooms, as well as the one near Mr. Filch's office."

"And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Harry had almost followed the Marauders out of the Great Hall when he remembered that he needed to meet Dumbledore. Informing James about the situation, he tore away from the group and moved towards the High Table. Dumbledore had already left, but McGonagall was still there.

"Come with me, Mr. Potter, I'll take you to the Headmaster's office," said McGonagall, guiding him towards the Entrance Hall.

They walked in silence for about twenty minutes through various passageways and ever-changing staircases before they reached the familiar gargoyle. Harry was confident he could get there in under ten minutes using the shortcuts he knew. He had no idea why McGonagall was taking the long route. As far as he knew, she had been familiar with most of Hogwarts' passageways in his time.

"Quick-Quotes Quill," she gave the password. Seemed like Dumbledore hadn't quite developed his sweet tooth yet.

As expected, the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. The two of them stepped onto it. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, Harry saw a very familiar gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

"Enter!" came the voice of Dumbledore once McGonagall had knocked.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore. "I wanted to talk to you about your electives, but first, I hear you caused quite the ruckus on the train. Care to share your side of the story?"

Harry raised his eyebrow, wondering how the Headmaster had figured out it was him when everyone involved had assumed he was James. "There is not much to say, Professor. A bunch of older students were harassing a little girl. I tried to talk them out of it, but they decided to attack me. So I stunned and bound them before leaving them to one of the prefects."

"I see," replied Dumbledore. "But the students in question were under the impression that you used some kind of Dark Magic to absorb their spells."

Harry snorted, "Dark Magic? It was a simple absorbing shield, Professor."

"I deduced as much from the description of the shield. In that case, twenty points to Gryffindor for standing up to bullying and not using any more violence than was absolutely necessary," said the Headmaster.

"Thank you, Professor," replied the bespectacled young wizard.

"Moving on to the subject of your elective courses, am I correct in my assumption about your real concern being that you'll end up spending a lot of time catching up which will adversely affect your performance in other classes?"

"Yes, Professor," replied Harry. He didn't particularly care about his grades — or, for that matter, his career. But if he could use them as an excuse to get out of useless elective classes, he wasn't complaining.

"In that case, I'd like to make a proposition. . ."

"What kind of proposition, Professor?"

"In the recent years, we have received numerous letters from the prospective employers looking to hire fresh Hogwarts graduates. They complain that while our students know a wide variety of magic, they are not adept at using it to solve practical problems. As a result," the Headmaster rubbed his eyes, "they feel that all but the most exceptional of Hogwarts graduates are unemployable for anything but the menial jobs — that the quality of education at Hogwarts is somehow declining. . ."

Harry noticed that both Dumbledore and McGonagall looked deeply offended by the idea.

"Naturally, we conducted out own investigations," continued the Headmaster. "We found that the root of problem lies in the fact that our students lack exposure to real world. . ."

"How are we supposed to get exposure to real world unless we go out there?" asked Harry indignantly.

"Back in the day, our students used to — as you put it — _go out there_ before they left school or immediately afterwards. Some would go for part-time jobs during the summers — not unlike what the Muggles call an internship, while others would work on research projects. . . I myself was the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot. . . And it was considered traditional to take a tour of the world, visiting and observing foreign wizards, learning obscure foreign magic, before pursuing their careers. By the time they applied for a real job, they would have gained a not-insignificant amount of experience. . ."

Dumbledore had a pained look on his face while he spoke. Harry knew why — he had never managed to go on his own tour because of his mother's untimely death.

"I don't understand, Professor. Why not make it mandatory for every student to go for an internship or a research project? And what does any of this have to do with my elective course?"

"With the number of students we have currently enrolled at Hogwarts, those are no longer practical options for most. To fill that void, we have come up with a course which we hope will equip the students with the tools they need to thrive once they are out of Hogwarts. . ."

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up earlier than usual. For the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had had a good night's sleep without getting drunk. Which was a good thing — he had forgotten to put his usual Silencing Charms around his bed. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after McGonogall had escorted him to his dormitory after a long discussion in the Headmaster's office.

The Headmaster had essentially offered him an opportunity to be the guinea pig for a pet project of his — in exchange for being excused from the regular electives. The new course was called Applied Magic and was expected to encompass a wide variety of magic — and more importantly, techniques — not normally taught at Hogwarts. As the name implied, it was mostly a practical course. He was going to be the first — and possibly the only student to opt for it in the current academic year. Despite Dumbledore's assurances to the contrary, Harry didn't expect too many students to sign up for it in their OWL year.

Based on the success of the pilot, the Wizarding Examination Authority was going to consider instating it as a regular course. Given that the course was considered too challenging for third years, WEA wanted it to be a NEWT only course. But Dumbledore had different ideas — he wanted it to eventually be a mandatory course starting from the fourth or the fifth year. A lot depended upon the success of the students taking the pilot course. That was the real reason Dumbledore wanted him to take the course — he had apparently managed to impress the Headmaster with his wand work.

While Harry hated being used, he had eventually accepted the offer. At least he didn't need to catch up on a bunch of theory centric subjects. And it seemed like he might end up learning something useful from the new course.

Harry groaned softly. First time was bad enough — he really hated dealing with classes and OWLs a second time.

Noticing that no one else was awake, and that there were about two hours to go before breakfast, he decided to go for a run around the lake. Now that was no longer a Quidditch player, he needed another physical activity to increase his stamina and keep him fit. He wished he had bought a broomstick. He had no desire to join the Quidditch team again — it was the single most time consuming extra-curricular activity he had ever undertaken — and time was one thing he didn't have in spades. But he had always found flying to be extremely relaxing. He still had his Firebolt, of course — safely packed away at the bottom of his trunk, which was locked using the strongest Locking Charm he knew. It was one of the few things from the future he hadn't placed in his Gringotts vault, figuring that it might come in handy in case he ever needed to make a quick getaway. But he couldn't exactly bring it out for a casual flight. He made a note to buy a new one at the first opportunity he got.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Harry was sitting in the common room which was devoid of people, waiting for the Marauders to come down. While he could make his way to the Great Hall in his sleep, he was supposed to be a new student — and new students tended not to be good at navigating the maze that was Hogwarts.

He was about to go and wake them up when he heard someone clearing their throat. He turned towards the source to see an extremely nervous looking Lily.

"Err. . . Potter — I mean Harry — I — I — wannapologise. . ."

Harry raised an eyebrow, causing Lily to blush. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, though.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I — I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I was having a horrible day and when I saw you — I thought you were your brother playing a prank — and I kind of lost control —"

"Look —" Harry started, but was steamrolled by Lily who was still rambling.

"— I mean, I know it's not a good excuse, but I am really sorry. I — I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise —"

"Miss Evans," Harry interjected a bit forcefully this time, "It's fine. I understand — we all make mistakes. You don't have to do anything."

"Really? You'll just let it go?" she asked, looking disbelieving.

"Yes. Although if you do want to do something, you could help me get to the Great Hall. Those idiots," he jerked his thumb towards the boys dorms, "are taking forever to wake up — and I am getting hungry!" He didn't particularly care that the last bit came out like a whine.

Lily giggled. "Of course! And call me Lily."

Harry smiled. While he had not planned for it, it was nice getting to know his mother — even if she was a teenager at the moment. And after a couple of laps around the lake, he _had_ worked up an appetite.

He noticed Lily looking at him strangely a few times on the way to the Great Hall. Harry chuckled inwardly — she was clearly bursting with questions, but couldn't quite figure out where to start without sounding nosey. He had seen Hermione in a similar situation too many times to not recognise the symptoms.

She decided to sit opposite to him on the Gryffindor table — not that there was anyone else on the table — they were the first Gryffindors in the Great Hall. Harry finally decided to put her out of her misery.

"Miss Evans — Lily — you clearly have something on your mind. Care to share?" he asked as he poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Lily blushed at having been caught so easily, but that didn't prevent her from launching a barrage of questions at him — most of which were related to his past. Thankfully, he had thought of most of the things beforehand. He intentionally kept the answers as vague as he could, not wanting to give a head start to anyone digging into his past. Lily was clearly not satisfied with many of the answers, but didn't probe further. Harry wished he could bring her into the secret. But he knew the revelation could completely ruin any chances of his parents getting together. Or worse, she might feel pressured to marry James. He didn't want either of the outcomes.

In turn, he asked her about her family. While she didn't say it out loud, Harry was perceptive enough to figure out that things were not going well between the Evans sisters. He wasn't really surprised — Petunia couldn't have turned nasty overnight, after all.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Marauders. Not wanting to be around them, Lily quickly excused herself.

"What was Evans doing here?" asked Sirius, who was sitting beside him.

"Having breakfast," replied Harry drily.

"But why was she sitting with you? She normally avoids us like plague!" Sirius persisted.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, since the lot of you were taking forever to wake up, she helped me get here. And she won't avoid you if you stop annoying her."

James looked ready to protest, but Professor McGonagall descended from the High Table with their course schedules.

"Look at today!" groaned Sirius. "History of Magic, double Potions, Transfiguration, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts. . . Binns, Slughorn, McGonagall, and that Meadowes woman — all in one day!"

* * *

History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor Binns, who was ghost even in the 70s, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while the students took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space.

Not wanting to waste his time doing any of that, Harry had brought an advanced Defence text disguised to look like the prescribed History book on the outside with him. He was hoping to spend the class reading up on some new curses. He had even occupied an empty desk at the very back of the class. But Lily, apparently still feeling guilty, had decided to keep him company. It was like having Hermione sitting beside him all over again — not that he wouldn't do anything to have the girl sit beside him once again. But Hermione had always been a bit too zealous about academics — Lily was worse.

"Harry, you really should take notes! This stuff is bound to come up in OWLs," she nagged him for what seemed like the hundredth time. "What are you reading anyway? That doesn't look like a history book to me."

"I already know most of that stuff, Lily," replied Harry, almost whining. And he wasn't kidding. Somehow, surprising even himself, he remembered most of what Binns was teaching — despite never having paid attention to the class. Perhaps it was the effect of Hermione's tutoring before the exams.

Lily huffed, "Fine! Suit yourself!"

He at least pretended to take notes after that. In reality, he was making a note of spells he needed to practice. Lily seemed happy to see that.

* * *

The next class was double Potions with the Slytherins. Harry had never understood why anyone in their right minds would ever want to put bitter rivals like the Gryffindors and the Slytherins together in a class as accident-prone as potions. And yet, every single Potions class he had ever attended had somehow been a combined one with the Slytherins. Back then, he had suspected Snape had something to do with it. But if Slughorn was doing it as well, there was a good chance that it was either a long-standing Hogwarts tradition, or Albus 'Power-of-Love' Dumbledore had something to do with it.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had gone straight from breakfast to History of Magic, which meant he had to run back to the Gryffindor Tower to get his Potions book and equipment. Despite using his shortcuts, he barely managed to make to the dungeons as Slughorn was starting with the roll call.

"I am sorry for the tardiness, Professor. I —" he tried to think of an excuse, but Slughorn cut him off.

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter. It not uncommon for new students to get lost in the corridors of Hogwarts," replied the Potions master. "Take a seat."

Turning around, Harry noticed that the students were sitting around cauldrons in pairs. He was confused — Snape had never allowed them to work in pairs. Nor had Slughorn — back in his sixth year. Pondering over the puzzle, he looked around for the Marauders. Predictably, James and Sirius were sharing a cauldron between them while Remus and Pettigrew were sharing another. Turned out everyone was already paired up with someone. With a jolt, he realised that Lily was sitting with a Slytherin — was that Snape? His jaw dropped open. What kind of a weird alternate reality had he fallen into? But the rational part of his mind realised that she was likely stuck with him because she couldn't find anyone else. He intended to rectify that in the next class. Despite her nagging, he still wanted her as a friend.

Not finding anyone to partner with, Harry walked over to one of the empty tables at the far end of the class. Slughorn had different ideas.

"Mr. Potter," he called out, "why don't you join Miss Black over there?" he pointed towards the corner closest to where he was standing. Looking towards the direction he was pointing at, Harry realised that Bellatrix was indeed sitting alone in what had to be the darkest corner of the dungeon — probably the reason he had not noticed her earlier. Cursing his luck, he picked up his things and walked over to her cauldron as Slughorn continued with the roll call. She didn't look particularly pleased with the development.

"Potter," she called, "I apologise for not believing you yesterday, but you have to admit, it sounded rather far-fetched, especially given your brother's penchant for practical jokes. . ."

Harry nodded — it did sound reasonable — and at least she hadn't slapped him.

Bellatrix smirked — turned out Harry had vocalised his thoughts. He turned red.

"Moving on, if we are going to work together for the rest of the year, you better be up to the mark. I'll not have you drag me down. . ."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "You assume we are going to work together for the rest of the year?"

"No one told you how this class works?" asked Bellatrix, looking annoyed.

"What do you mean?" asked a confused Harry.

Bellatrix gave him a look he had become very familiar with during the weeks he had spent at Grimmauld Place — the one that blatantly questioned his mental prowess.

"Most of these pairs were formed back in first year. Slughorn decided that it was not feasible for him to supervise so many students individually or grade so many assignments. Each pair is treated as a unit. We brew our potions together and submit joint assignments. Both students get the same grades, regardless of their individual contribution. Fair warning: I cursed my last partner for screwing up my grades — the detention was well worth it. Slughorn has allowed me to work alone since then."

Harry gulped, wondering if Slughorn would allow him to work alone.

They were interrupted by the Potions master calling the class to attention.

"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, "Before we start the class, I'd like to remind you that next June you will be sitting an very important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Those of you considering a career as an Auror or a Healer should note that you need a NEWT in Potions to be considered. And to join the NEWT class, you'll need to score at least an Exceeds Expectations in your OWLs."

"Having taught you for five years, I don't see why any of you can't score at least an Acceptable in your Potions OWL. All you need is put in a bit of hard work."

"Moving on, today we will be brewing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. . ." he spent the next ten minutes briefly explaining the properties of the Potion and the role of various ingredients that went into it — something Snape had rarely done.

"The ingredients and method are on the blackboard for your reference" — Slughorn made them appear with a flick of his wand — "or you can use your books if you prefer. You will find everything you need in the store cupboard" — he opened the door of the said cupboard with another flick of his wand — "you have an hour and a half. . . Start."

Harry was relieved — he had decent idea of how to brew that particular potion, having messed it up once. Looking at Bellatrix, he said, "Prepare the cauldron while I go get the ingredients. . ."

"Who put you in charge?" she challenged, almost instinctively.

"Well, we could do it the other way round if you prefer. . ."

She scrutinised him for a while, making him very uncomfortable. Finally she spoke in a low, almost growling, voice, "No it's fine. But do not try to order me around, Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Black," Harry replied as he stepped towards the store cupboard.

The potion was complicated, no doubt. But they didn't have much trouble brewing it. Between the two additional years of experience he had and Bellatrix's brewing skills, they managed to brew a close to perfect potion — the colour was only slightly off. He was impressed with Bellatrix's brewing skills. She clearly wasn't a prodigy like Snape, but she certainly knew her way around a cauldron.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Slughorn, with fifteen minutes left to go. He moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the their table.

"The potion is almost perfect — certainly good enough for use in the Hospital Wing. Please collect as much as you can in a flagon and label it clearly with your name. I'll pass it on to Madam Pomfrey after grading. Feel free to use an extra flagon if one is not enough. Excellent work, Mr. Potter, Miss Black."

The only other pair he had similar things to say about were Snape and Lily. Their potion was apparently even better.

"Homework: one foot on the Draught of Peace — its uses, properties, side-effects and anything else you can come up with. And two feet on what went wrong with your potion, including the properties of and interactions between various ingredients. The ones who brewed the potion successfully are exempt from the second one, of course. To be submitted next Monday. Class dismissed. You're free to leave once you have cleaned up."

The class groaned collectively at the amount of Homework.

"You're not half bad, Potter," remarked Bellatrix as they cleaned up. She was looking extremely pleased.

"Why, thank you, Black!" replied Harry. "Can I stop watching my back, then?"

"You're safe until you screw up. And I won't curse you in the back. . . Now, we are meeting on Saturday after lunch in the library for homework. Don't be late, or I might count that as a screw up."

"Hey! Don't _I_ get a say in this?" protested Harry.

"No," she replied haughtily as she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked off, leaving an annoyed Harry behind.

* * *

 **Story Recommendation**

Harry Potter and the Rune Stone Path by Temporal Knight

* * *

 **Authors Notes**

Thank you for reading. And special thanks to all the reviewers.

Harry didn't lose his Firebolt while escaping from Privet Drive in my version of canon. I always found it stupid that he didn't secure it somehow.

Let me know what you think of the chapter. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

 **Published: June 05, 2017**


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